Lost Sons
by fvhardy
Summary: What starts as a missing person's case escalates into something far more sinister. As Fenton fights to keep the truth from his sons, Frank and Joe become involved in a way the Hardys never thought possible…
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"He really said that about us?" asked sixteen-year-old Frank Hardy incredulously, running his fingers through his dark hair.

"He really said that," Fenton Hardy responded with a grin, his eyes fixed firmly on the road in front.

"Awesome!" exclaimed fifteen-year-old Joe from the back seat. "So when do we get to go on a stake-out with you?"

"You wouldn't be able to go on a stake-out, Joe, you couldn't stay quiet long enough," Frank teased.

"Hey!" exclaimed Joe indignantly. "That's not true! I was able to get in and out of Ira Wendelmahn's office without anyone seeing me."

"Only because you're so short."

"I'm not short!" Joe protested. "I'm over five foot six."

"I'm still taller than you."

"You're older than me!"

"Frank, leave your brother alone," Fenton reprimanded his eldest mildly. "You know very well he's grown a lot in the past few months."

"All the more reason for me to tease him while I still have the chance," Frank retorted, grinning back at his brother who stuck out his tongue in response.

"Frank!" said his father in warning.

"All right, all right! I'll leave shorty alone."

But Joe wasn't letting Frank have the last word. "Yeah well, I might be shorter than you but I'm still better looking!"

"I believe the expression is tall, dark and handsome, not tall, blond and handsome," Frank rejoined wickedly.

"Blonds have more fun!" Joe riposted.

"You two have just solved your first case," Fenton cut in, "and _this_ is the conversation you're having?"

"Sorry, Dad," the boys chorused sheepishly and Fenton grinned to himself.

Over the years, he had often told the boys stories about his detective work and they in turn had expressed an interest in more than his stories. For the past two years, Fenton had been coaching them in the skills required for sleuthing and they had displayed a natural aptitude for it.

When Randy Willis had called to say someone was stealing designs from his computer company, SecuriCorp, Fenton had thought it would be a good opportunity to test his sons' abilities. Frank and Joe had proved themselves to be more than up to the challenge, discovering that it was a company employee who was leaking the secrets.

The thief had been Ira Wendelmahn, a company director and Willis' most trusted employee. Randy Willis had been blown away by Fenton's sons and told the detective that they were a hundred times sharper than any of the previous 'so-called professionals' he had hired, and he would call on them again if ever he had a problem.

"Dad, how long before we get back to Bayport?" asked Joe, interrupting his father's train of thought.

"Another two hours," Fenton replied, glancing at his son's face in the rear-view mirror. Joe was drumming his fingers and shifting restlessly in his seat. He scowled at his father's response.

_Of course, some people still have to learn a little patience before they can become a fully-fledged detective! _the detective grinned to himself.

**xxx**

"It was so cool, Mom," Joe proclaimed gleefully later that evening at dinner. "You should have seen Wendelmahn's face when Frank produced the disk, he looked like he was going to be sick!"

"You did very well, boys," smiled Laura. "I'm very proud of you."

"Hmph!" snorted their Aunt Gertrude. "Fenton, I'm not so sure it's a good idea for boys their age to be getting involved in such things. They should be concentrating on their studies."

"We would never let detective work interfere with our grades!" Frank put in hurriedly. "And we do learn some pretty useful stuff doing detective work."

"Besides," Joe chimed in, "it's good practice for when we're finished school and working full time as detectives."

"But that's still a few years away, Joe," his aunt reminded him. "And you might decide you want to study something else by then, like Law or Medicine," she added hopefully.

The three Hardy men erupted with laughter and even Laura smiled.

"Keep dreaming, Aunt Gertrude!" teased Frank with a grin, and his aunt sighed.

"Hey, Frank," said Joe. "Are you coming with me to meet the gang at Mr. Pizza's later?"

Frank shook his head. "I have Karate."

Joe groaned. "Karate! How do you stand it? It's so boring! And it always looked so cool in the movies too."

"It's a discipline, Joe," Frank pointed out. "An art, and-"

"Yeah, whatever!" Joe waved his hand dismissively and Frank sighed.

Both boys had started Karate classes a few months previously, feeling it would be a good idea to learn self-defence for their detective work. However, Joe had only lasted through three classes before he had gotten bored. Secretly, Frank was amazed that Joe had even lasted through that many; his brother wasn't exactly known for his patience.

"I think you should come to Mr. Pizza's instead," said Joe. "All the gang will be there and they're really looking forward to hearing about our weekend."

"I'm not missing Karate class, Joe," Frank told him firmly.

"Callie will be there," said Joe with a sly smile and Frank immediately blushed.

Callie Shaw had moved to Bayport several months earlier. She was in Frank's year at school, and Frank had immediately been smitten with the pretty blond. He had tried to hide this fact from Joe, but unfortunately for Frank, he was prone to turning neon-red whenever Callie was in the vicinity and Joe had not been long in working it out…or in using every opportunity to tease Frank about it.

"Why so eager to get Frank to go to Mr. Pizza's, Joe?" asked his mother with a grin, coming to Frank's aid. "Could it be because you need a lift?"

This time it was Joe's turn to blush and everyone laughed.

"Don't worry, Joe," said Frank with a grin. "I'll drop you off on my way to Karate."

"Thanks," said Joe sheepishly. "Um, you gonna drop in afterwards?"

Frank laughed again. "I'll pick you up on the way home. You could just ask, you know."

"I know," Joe mumbled, looking down at his plate and Frank grinned a little. It was a sore point with his brother that Frank was able to drive and he wasn't.

"Cheer up, Joe," said Frank. "You'll be sixteen next year and then you'll be able to get your licence too."

"I suppose I'll just have to put up with having a private chauffeur until then," Joe joked.

"Watch it you, or you'll be walking to Mr. Pizza!"

**xxx**

"That sounds awesome, Joe," said Biff enviously.

"Yeah," Chet nodded in agreement. "When's your next case?"

"I don't know," Joe answered honestly, tearing into his fourth slice of pizza. "Soon I hope."

"Joe," Callie grimaced as she watched him. "Is there any particular reason you're shovelling food into your mouth like you haven't eaten in a month?"

"Coach told me I need to put on at least twenty pounds before I can get more field time. I'm too skinny."

"Well, at the speed you're eating, you're probably burning more calories than you're consuming!" Callie teased and everyone laughed.

Joe scowled at her. Callie got on his nerves sometimes, but she and Iola had become firm friends ever since they had met on the school paper. Joe just didn't understand how Iola could be friends with someone so girlie; Iola was one of the guys after all.

"Hey, Frank!" Tony yelled suddenly, waving. "Over here!"

They all turned to see Frank weaving his way through the crowded tables in their direction. "Hey, bro, what gives?" asked Joe once Frank was in hearing distance. "I thought you were going to Karate?"

"Class was cancelled," replied Frank, dropping into a chair beside Phil. "Hi, guys."

"Joe was just telling us all about your weekend," said Chet. "Bet school will seem pretty boring after that."

"Don't let Aunt Gertrude hear you say that," Frank remarked dryly. "She'd use it as another excuse to try and stop us helping Dad."

"Well, you can understand why she'd be worried about you," Callie pointed out reasonably. "You two are her only nephews and she's probably just afraid that something might happen to you."

"She can be as worried as she likes so long as she doesn't go putting ideas in Dad's head," Joe put in and Callie shot him a despairing glance.

"Well, at least this means you two will be around for my brother's welcome home party next weekend," Biff told them.

Biff's brother Nick was twenty-one, and the oldest of the three Hooper children. He had joined the Air Force when he had graduated from high school and had been away for the last year.

"Friday night, isn't it?" asked Joe and Biff nodded.

"And does anyone want to know who Phil will be going with?" Tony interjected suddenly, with a devilish grin at the quiet boy.

Phil blushed. "I'm sure everyone would prefer to hear about Frank and Joe's weekend."

"No, we wouldn't!" said Chet at once. "Who are you going with?"

"Karen Saunders," Tony told them.

"Karen Saunders?" yelped Chet. "Are you serious?"

"That's the last time I tell you anything," Phil muttered, shooting a murderous glance at Tony, his face now a nice deep purple.

The other boys started to grin. "What did you do? Hypnotise her to say yes?" teased Biff.

"Actually, she asked me out," Phil mumbled and the boys roared with laughter.

"Seriously, Phil, that girl is _cute_! What's she doing asking you out?" demanded Chet.

"Maybe she's decided to give brains instead of brawn a chance?" suggested Tony wickedly, as Phil buried his face in his hands.

"Leave him alone!" cried Iola, coming to Phil's defence. "When was the last time any of _you_ had dates?"

The boys stopped laughing at once. "Did you see the game Friday night?" Tony asked no one in particular and the others started talking quickly.

"Yeah, great game, wasn't it?"

"Awesome touchdown by Madison."

Iola rolled her eyes and Phil shot her a grateful glance.

"Thanks," he mouthed to her and she smiled. Phil then joined in the discussion on the game.

"Boys," Callie muttered to Iola, shaking her head.

**xxx**

The next evening after school, Frank drove home alone because Joe had football practice. The radio was playing, and Frank sang softly to himself while tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It was his mother's car and although she was very liberal with how often she gave it to him, sometimes Frank wished he had a car of his own.

_Maybe next year when Joe turns sixteen we could buy one_, he mused, as he turned onto Elm Street. He resolved to suggest it to Joe later.

_Hey, Dad's home! _the teenager realised, pulling into the driveway and turning off the engine. He was surprised because their father had left early that morning and the boys had fully expected that he would not be back until late that night.

"Mom? Dad?" Frank called as he entered the house.

"Hi, honey," his mother greeted him, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Does Joe have practice?"

Frank nodded. "Tony is giving him a ride. Don't worry, Mom, he promised to be home on time for dinner."

"Good," his mother smiled. "We have company this evening."

"We do?" asked Frank. "Who?"

"Mike Wilson."

"Mike Wilson!" exclaimed Frank in delight. "Seriously?"

Laura nodded. "Your father ran into him this morning in town. He's on a missing persons case and he's here in Bayport for a few days following a lead. Your father invited him to dinner."

"Where is Dad?"

"Out helping Mike chase down whatever lead he's following. He came by earlier to drop off his car and took off again," said Laura, smiling fondly and shaking her head.

Frank grinned and headed up the stairs to start his homework.

"Dinner will be in two hours," Laura called after him.

"Okay, Mom," he called back.

All thoughts of a car driven from his mind, Frank felt his excitement grow as he entered his room. Big Mike Wilson was almost legendary in the New York Police Department and one of his father's oldest friends. They had graduated from the academy and been rookies together, and Mike had even served overseas for a few years before returning to the NYPD.

Frank and Joe had met him a few times, the last time being when they were eleven and twelve. He was now a detective with NYPD and had a schedule every bit as busy as Fenton's, meaning the men rarely got a chance to meet up.

Mike Wilson was a huge man with a booming laugh and gentle nature; Frank and Joe had always been very fond of him, particularly because every time he saw them he told them stories about what he and their father had gotten up to in their younger days, something the boys found most entertaining.

Smiling to himself and looking forward to dinner, Frank sat at his desk and started his homework. He was still working away diligently nearly an hour and a half later when Joe got home. "Frank!" he could hear his brother's excited yell as he raced up the stairs.

"Frank!" Joe burst into his room, breathless with excitement. "Stand up a sec!"

"Joe," Frank groaned, knowing what was coming. "Not this again!"

"Come on, Frank!" Joe begged. "Coach said I've finally hit five foot seven and I just want to see."

"Why can't you just mark off a measure stick on the door like everybody else?" Frank muttered as he stood up. He was glad that Joe had finally stopped being the short kid and was starting to shoot up, but what if his little brother passed him out? Frank knew it was stupid, but he felt that as the eldest, he should also be the tallest.

Joe was now measuring himself beside Frank, his face a mask of intense concentration.

"It's not really that much," he said finally, a look of disappointment crossing his face.

Joe looked so forlorn that Frank took pity on him. "Cheer up, Joe. It's not that big a deal."

"But it is!" Joe insisted. "I've played in exactly four games this season and all for less than three minutes. If I want to get more time on the field then I need to get bigger!"

"Joe, you're one of the fastest guys on the team, surely that counts for something?"

Joe shrugged unhappily. "Coach thinks I could get hurt 'cause the other guys are bigger than me."

Frank frowned a little. "There are plenty of guys on the team only an inch or two taller than you, and if I remember correctly, Dan Anderson is shorter than you."

"He's also about seventy pounds heavier," Joe reminded him with a slight grin. "Other players just ricochet off him! And those other guys are pretty heavy too."

Frank glanced at Joe's skinny frame. "You're still growing, Joe. I wasn't exactly Mr. Muscle this time last year either."

Joe raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Frank, I hate to burst your bubble but you're still not exactly Mr. Muscle!"

Frank sighed in exasperation. "Joe, the point is I've grown. I filled out, and you will too."

"But why does it have to take so long?" Joe groaned impatiently.

"Because it just does!" replied Frank with a grin. "Besides, I have some news that'll cheer you up."

"What?"

"Mike Wilson is coming to dinner tonight."

"Mike Wilson? Seriously?"

Frank nodded and Joe cheered with delight. "Excellent! Wonder what story he'll tell us about Dad this time?"

"Joe?" a voice sounded from the hall and both boys turned to see their mother standing in the doorway. "Dinner will be ready shortly, you might want to wash up."

"Is Dad here yet?" asked Frank.

"They're on the way," smiled Laura. "They'll be here soon."

"Cool!" said Joe and dashed into the bathroom that he and Frank shared to clean up.

The boys were seated at the kitchen table ten minutes later when the front door opened. Their mother and aunt were busy bustling about the kitchen.

"Laura?" they heard their father's voice from the hall.

"In the kitchen," she called back.

Their father entered the kitchen followed by the massive shape of Mike Wilson. "Laura," he greeted her cheerfully, kissing her cheek and proffering a bottle of wine. "It's great to see you, it's been a long time."

"You too, Mike," Laura returned warmly. "Oh, thank you," she added accepting the wine.

"And, Gertrude, still as lovely as ever," Mike addressed the boys' aunt with a twinkle in his eye as he approached her.

"Now! Less of that!" she said tartly, although she was smiling as he kissed her. "It's very nice to see you again, Mike."

"Boys!" the big man boomed turning to face them. "Damn! - Sorry, Gertrude - but you boys have sure grown since I saw you last. Frank, you look more like your Dad every time I see you. Much smarter of course," he added with a conspiratol wink at Frank.

"Hey!" Fenton mock-glared. "I was always the brains of the operation!"

"Ah, but I only let you _think _that," Mike responded putting his finger on the side of his head.

Joe laughed and Mike turned to him. "How's little Joey doing?

"Uh, Mike?" Fenton cut in. "It's just Joe now."

"Joe, eh?" said Mike. "I suppose that sounds about right. And you're not so little anymore either; you've grown so much, I wouldn't recognise you.

Joe beamed.

"Why don't you have a seat, Mike?" said Laura. "Dinner's just about ready."

"Thank you, Laura," Mike smiled, as he and Fenton sat down.

"So, boys," he addressed Frank and Joe. "I believe you two have decided to follow in your Dad's footsteps?"

The boys nodded eagerly. "Well, be careful not to get into trouble," he warned them. "It can follow you around like a bad smell if you're not careful."

"Of course, some people manage to find trouble even when they're not detectives," Gertrude put in, looking pointedly at Joe.

"Bit of a trouble magnet then, eh, Fenton?" asked Mike.

"He's turned more than a few of my hairs grey already," Fenton responded dryly.

"Well, at least he doesn't go looking for it," said Mike in response, shooting a supportive smile at a red-faced Joe. "Not like you when you were younger-"

"Let's not talk about me when I was younger!" interrupted Fenton hurriedly.

"Afraid I might tell the boys something you don't want them to know?" Mike challenged with a grin.

"No, it's not that, it's just-"

"Then what are you worried about?" Mike cut in and turned to the boys while Laura suppressed a laugh.

"Did I ever tell you about the first night your Dad and I met?"

"Dad did," Joe answered.

"Bet you he didn't tell you everything though," said Mike with a smile. "Did he tell you about the room next door?" The boys shook their head.

"Didn't think so," Mike commented with a gleeful look at Fenton.

"You know your Dad and I were assigned as each other's room mate," he said, starting his tale. "But I'll tell you, when I walked into that room and found this skinny looking beanpole sprawled across the bed reading a crime novel of all things, I thought the accommodation office must have made a mistake!"

Frank and Joe laughed.

"I hope this is a clean story," Gertrude commented, with a warning look at Mike.

"It is, don't worry," Mike assured her. "Anyway, we didn't really talk much that evening, but later that night we had trouble sleeping; the guy next door snored so bad it sounded like a freight train was coming through the room. Eventually, at about three in the morning, your dad gets up and leaves. Five minutes later, silence falls in the next room. And while I'm lying there wondering what happened, your Dad comes back, gets into bed and goes to sleep!"

Mike paused to take a breath before continuing. "The snoring never started up again and I was completely freaked out, thinking I'd landed myself with a serial killer roommate! I didn't sleep one wink that night I was so afraid of your dad."

"Well? What happened?" asked Gertrude, obviously listening to the story, despite her disapproval.

"Apparently, Fenton had the bright idea of putting this guy's hand in a bucket of cold water. Don't ask me where he got the idea from; I mean, everyone knows what happens when you do that to someone, and it's _not _stop them snoring!"

"It worked that night!" said Fenton with a wicked grin.

"Oh, don't tell me," gasped Frank, laughter bubbling in his throat.

"Yup," said Mike as he started to laugh. "Guy shows up at our door next morning, in one hell of a temper - the roommate had let Fenton in, so he knew who to blame - and shouted himself hoarse while standing there with his boxers all wet!"

Frank and Joe roared with laughter while Gertrude looked horrified. "Fenton!" she gasped.

"The best bit of it was," said Fenton, joining in the laughter, "he woke up the whole dorm, and of course they saw everything! He got the worst nick-name of our entire graduating class, and I won't repeat it. I don't think even Mike will do that."

"That I won't," Mike agreed. "But I can tell you that what followed was several months of practical jokes between our room and his. Course after that, I realised your Dad was an okay guy and we became friends."

"We had to really, to defeat Steve," Fenton smiled reminiscently.

"Fenton, I can't believe you did that to that poor boy!" Gertrude reprimanded him indignantly.

"I was only eighteen!" Fenton defended himself. "And besides, Steve was one of the most unpleasant people I've ever met in my life; he'd already played a particularly nasty trick on one of the girls in the dorm earlier that day."

"Doesn't make it any less acceptable," she sniffed.

"Well it's over and done with now," said Fenton.

"You're right," Mike agreed. "I have a lot of stories about you to share with your boys."

"That's not exactly what I meant!"

"I know, but it's my job to keep them informed," teased Mike. "After all, you very kindly filled Louise in on all my exploits the last time you were at our place."

"I knew that was going to come back to bite me in the ass sooner or later!" Fenton groaned.

"Louise is my daughter," Mike explained to the boys. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, your father! Did you boys ever hear about the time he arranged our Captain's office furniture on the front lawn of the Academy? Exactly as it was arranged in his office?"

"No!" exclaimed Frank and Joe as they exploded with laughter.

"Excellent!" said Mike gleefully. "Well, you see, it all started when Fenton was told he couldn't go on this particular training course…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Joe was still chuckling on the ride to school the next morning.

"Can you believe Dad really did those things?" he asked Frank.

"I don't think Dad believes he did those things!" answered Frank with a grin. "I'd never have picked him for such a rebel."

"Poor Aunt Gertrude seemed a little crushed," Joe commented wickedly. "You think Dad might have been telling a few white lies about what he really got up to when he was younger?"

"Probably. You know, he's a lot more like you than I thought."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Joe, refusing to rise to the bait. "Hey, look! Isn't that Callie walking to school?"

But Frank had already spotted the pretty blond and was pulling over to offer her a lift. "Hey, Callie!" he called. "Do you need a ride to school?"

Callie turned around and her face split in a wide grin. "Hi, Frank! Yeah, thanks, that'd be great. Hey, Joe," she greeted the younger Hardy as she climbed into the back seat.

"Hi, Callie," he answered. "Where's your car?"

"In the garage, some lunatic drove into me on the way home last night," she explained.

"What? Are you okay?" asked Frank at once.

"Yeah, only the car got damaged. I'd like to get my hands on that other driver though," Callie fumed.

"What do you mean?" Joe raised his eyebrows.

"The jerk crashed into me and then just kept driving!" Callie told them. "I didn't even get the licence plate number."

"He didn't even stop to see if you were okay?" Frank was outraged. "Did you call the police?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter, they probably won't find the guy," Callie sighed. "Con Riley called our house this morning. They found a stolen car abandoned beyond Porter's Point and the description fits the one that crashed into me. I'm going out to the station after school to have a look."

"Stolen!" exclaimed Joe, starting to get excited. "Hey, maybe Frank and I could look into it?"

"I doubt it," said Callie with a small grin. "The car was stolen in New York."

"Oh," said Joe, a little crestfallen.

Frank and Callie exchanged a grin in the review mirror. "Cheer up, Joe," said Frank. "I'm sure another case will come along soon. Dad was talking of helping Mike with his case last night, maybe he'll bring us along too."

"You've really been bitten by the detective bug, Joe," Callie commented. "Although it's easy to see why, it sounds very exciting."

"Lets just hope that something comes along soon," said Joe. "The real world is so boring after detective work."

"We only finished our first case yesterday!" Frank laughed. "You can't be bored already!"

"Well, it's like Callie said," Joe defended himself. "Detective work is exciting."

"Don't get to used to it," Frank reminded him. "We're still in school and I doubt there are too many crimes in Bayport that need solving."

**xxx**

Frank was glad when Friday night finally rolled around. Joe had been restless and fidgety all week, and was constantly complaining of being 'bored.' The older Hardy hoped that the Hooper's party would help to dispel some of his nervous energy.

The party was already in full swing when the boys arrived. Chinese lanterns had been strung up around the garden to combat the gathering dusk, while some lively music drifted from the stereo on the back porch.

"Frank! Joe!" they heard Biff's voice call as they stepped off the porch. They turned to see the blond boy hurrying towards them, a beaming smile on his face. The tall, muscular figure of his brother Nick followed closely behind.

"Nick!" Joe exclaimed in delight, jumping forward and pumping the young man's hand. "Welcome home!"

Nick laughed as he returned the hand shake. "It's good to be home. Damn, Joe, look at you! You've grown so tall that I wouldn't recognise you." He ruffled Joe's hair affectionately and Frank had to stifle a grin as Joe beamed. Nick Hooper was probably the only person in the world Joe would allow to do that to him. He had always hero-worshiped the eldest Hooper.

"Frank, how are you?" asked Nick turning to him and shaking his hand.

"I'm good. Welcome home, Nick," Frank returned warmly.

"Guys, you want a soda?" Biff interrupted.

"Sure." Frank followed Biff into the house, leaving Joe to catch up with Nick.

"I bet you're glad to have Nick home," Frank commented.

Biff nodded. "You have no idea, Frank. Man, I really missed having him around."

"I can imagine."

"Hi, guys! Where's the food?" piped up a voice from behind them.

"Trust that to be the first question _you_ ask," Biff teased as he turned to face Chet Morten. Iola and Callie stood just behind him.

"Hey, I have a reputation to maintain," Chet protested. "And you didn't answer my question."

Biff rolled his eyes. "Out back. The weather is so nice that Dad's doing a barbecue."

"Leave some for us!" Iola called after her brother as he rushed out the door.

Frank, meanwhile, was trying not to stare at Callie. The blonde girl looked extremely pretty in a simple white sundress and the teenager could feel a familiar heat beginning to steal across his face.

"Hi, Frank," Callie greeted him warmly. "Not off chasing another mystery this weekend?"

"Don't say that too loud," Iola laughed. "Joe's been complaining about the lack of mysteries all week."

"He can't hear you," said Frank. "He's out back talking to Nick."

"More like being dazzled," Iola commented dryly. "I'd better go say hello."

"I'll come with you!" said Biff quickly, with a sly grin at Callie and Frank. He and Iola shot out the back door, leaving a red-faced Frank and a bemused looking Callie standing in their wake.

"So," Callie smiled at Frank.

"So," Frank mumbled back.

There was silence for several minutes.

"Er, would you like a drink?" Frank asked.

"I'd love one, thanks."

Frank reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of soda. He handed it to Callie and gulped as he felt her fingers brush his.

_Okay, keep it together, Hardy! _he scolded himself. _She's just a girl!_

But it was very hard to keep telling himself that every time Callie's warm brown eyes crinkled in a smile. Frank swallowed. He had wanted to ask her out for months but he could never seem to get her alone. And now they were alone together; it was the perfect opportunity.

Frank took a deep breath.

"Ahem…Callie," he began. "I…I was just wondering-"

"Hey guys, where is everyone?" a cheerful voice sounded and Frank groaned inwardly as he turned to face Tony Prito and Phil Cohen. Phil's date, a pretty red-head stood behind them.

"Out back," Frank sighed. _Of all the lousy timing_.

"Oh great, soda," Tony continued, reaching for the fridge. "I'm parched. Phil, Karen, do you want one?"

"Sure," Phil agreed. "Hey, Frank, hi, Callie."

"Hey," replied Frank. _Please go out back! Please go out back!_

"Frank, are you and Joe doing anything on Sunday?" Tony asked, as he handed two bottles of Cola to Phil and Karen.

Frank shook his head, silently pleading with Tony to leave. Unfortunately, Tony remained completely oblivious.

"Great!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Dad's been talking of buying a boat for the past few months and he's heading down to the wharf tomorrow to have a look at some. If he buys one, do you guys fancy going out in it on Sunday?"

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" Karen interrupted. "I've never been on a boat before."

"Never?" gasped Tony in disbelief. "But we're right on the coast!"

"I know, but my mother doesn't like the water," Karen explained.

_Tony! _Frank moaned silently, as the conversation showed signs of growing. He turned his attention to Phil who was quicker on the uptake.

"I think we should say hello to Nick, Tony," he cut in, understanding Frank at once. "After all, it's his party."

"Oh yeah," Tony agreed, looking around. "Where is Nick anyhow?"

"Out back," Frank answered helpfully.

"We'd better go see-oh look, they're coming in!" said Tony cheerfully.

Frank sighed.

**xxx**

Frank didn't get Callie alone again for the rest of the night. As the party wound down, he found himself watching longingly as Callie got into a car with Chet and Iola. They were giving her a ride home.

_I should have offered! _he grumbled, mentally kicking himself.

"Hey, Frank," came Phil's soft voice from behind him. "Sorry, we interrupted you earlier."

Frank turned around and gave him a rueful grin. "Was I that obvious?"

"Like a homing beacon," Phil told him.

"Great!" Frank groaned.

"If it's any consolation, Callie looked ready to kill Tony too."

"Who wants to kill me?" asked Tony, coming out the front door. Joe and Biff were behind him.

"No one," said Phil quickly. "Figure of speech."

"Frank, did Nick tell you about the fighter plane he's learning to fly?" Joe interrupted excitedly, clearly not listening to any other conversation.

"He didn't need to, you've already told me three times," Frank reminded him dryly.

"Could you imagine flying one of those things?" Joe said to Biff, not even hearing Frank. "Do you think he'd be allowed to bring family members up in it when he gets his licence? I could pretend to be his brother-"

"You've already got a brother!" Frank punched him on the shoulder. "And he's ready to go home."

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" said Joe, glaring at Frank while he rubbed his arm. "Just let me say good bye to Chet and Iola."

"They just left," Frank told him.

"Without saying goodbye?" Joe looked annoyed.

"They _did_ say goodbye," Phil answered with a grin. "You and Biff were too busy worshipping at the alter of Nick to notice!"

Joe scowled and turned red. "Well, I haven't seen him in over a year."

"Don't worry, Joe, we get it," said Frank consolingly. "Come on, it's after twelve. Mom and Dad will be wondering where we are."

The boys said their good nights and headed for their car.

"Don't forget about Sunday!" Tony called after them.

"What's Tony talking about?" Joe asked as they sat into the car.

"Mr. Prito is buying a boat tomorrow and Tony wants us to take it out for a spin with him on Sunday," Frank explained, starting up the car. "I said we'd go."

"Sounds cool. Say, did you get to ask Callie out?"

"What?" Frank spluttered. "How did you…?"

"Come on, Frank!" said Joe impatiently. "You two have been making googly-eyes at each other for months. When Iola told me they'd left you two alone in the kitchen, I thought for sure you'd make a move!"

"I didn't get the chance."

"That's always your excuse." Joe rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a wuss, ask her out."

"I'm trying! And I'm not a wuss."

"Yeah right," Joe grumbled. "I wish you'd just get on with it, you've been mooning after her for months now."

"I have not!" exclaimed Frank indignantly. "And why does it matter so much to you anyway?"

Joe rolled his eyes again. "Because _I'm_ the one who has to put up with you. And if asking Callie out means that you'll get back to normal, or as near to normal as you get…"

"Very funny," said Frank sarcastically.

"…then I'm all for it," Joe finished.

"Yeah, well it's not that easy to ask someone out."

"Sure it is. You just ask them if they want to see a movie."

"Let's see you do it then!" Frank challenged, as he stopped the car at a red light.

"There's no one in Bayport that I want to ask out."

"Yeah right!" The words were out of Frank's mouth before he could stop them.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Joe shifted in his seat and glared at his brother.

"Nothing," Frank muttered as the light changed to green and he drove on. He had suspected for a very long time that Joe had a crush on Iola Morten, but it was a subject Joe was very touchy about and liable to explode over if mentioned.

"No it's not. Spit it out, Frank!"

"I just meant that it's easy for you to say when you don't have to do it," Frank muttered.

There was silence in the car for several minutes while Joe stared suspiciously at him. Then Frank changed the subject.

"Why kind of boat do you think Tony's Dad will get?"

"Probably a motorboat," Joe answered, settling back in his seat. "Mr. Prito told me once that he didn't like rowing boats. He said the work took all the fun out of sailing."

Frank chuckled. "Well, either way, a boat would be fun. I wonder what name they'll put on it?"

"Dunno," Joe shrugged. "What name would you put on a boat?"

"I've always liked the idea of a boat called _The Sleuth_," Frank admitted. "Does that sound really lame?"

"No, I kinda like it. Hey, do you think Mom and Dad would let us get a boat when we're older?"

"I think we'd have to be _alot_ older."

"Yeah," Joe sighed and looked out the window.

Frank grinned to himself as he drove up High Street. Joe had already forgotten about his comment. That was his brother all over; he blew up quickly but forgot about it in the next instant. Joe wasn't one to bear grudges.

"Hey, the lights are still on at home!" Joe interrupted Frank's thoughts as he turned the car onto Elm Street. "Someone's still up."

"Probably Dad," said Frank as he parked the car. "Wonder if he's working on a case?"

"Let's go see!" said Joe in excitement and was out of the car and running up the drive before Frank had even taken the keys out of the ignition.

Frank quickly locked the car and followed his brother. As he entered the house, he could hear voices coming from his father's study; it sounded like his brother was pleading with his father. Frank trotted down the hall and entered the study, closing the door that Joe had left open.

"Hi, Dad," said Frank.

"Hello, Frank. How was the party?"

"Pretty good," he replied, not including his dismal results in getting Callie alone.

"I'm glad. Joe, will you _please_ stop tapping your fingers on the desk!" Fenton added to his youngest in exasperation.

"Come on, Dad," Joe wheedled. "What case are you working on?"

Fenton sighed as Frank raised his eyebrows at him and grinned. "Alright, I'll tell you. Take a seat."

"Yesss!" Joe cried and flung himself into an easy chair, one leg dangling over the side. Frank seated himself in the chair across from his father's desk.

"I'm helping Mike with his case," Fenton began. "It's a missing person's case, a young boy in fact, the same age as you, Frank."

"That sucks," said Frank quietly.

"Yes, it does," his father agreed. "The boy's name is Andrew Watson, and he disappeared five weeks ago on his way to school. No one has seen or heard from him since, although Mike had a tip-off that Andrew was here in Bayport. It turned out to be false."

"Is that why Mike was in Bayport?" asked Joe.

Fenton nodded. "The boy's parents are beside themselves with worry. They said Andrew is a good boy who wouldn't have run away."

"So he must have been kidnapped," Frank guessed. "Has the kidnapper contacted them?"

Fenton shook his head.

"Do they know of anyone who would want to hurt them?" Joe asked quietly.

Fenton glanced at him and sighed. "Andrew's father is a Reverend. He's good man with no enemies. They have no idea who would want to hurt them or Andrew. All their friends say the same thing."

"What about Andrew's friends?" Frank wanted to know.

"Same thing. Andrew was a friendly, popular boy who got on with everyone."

Frank frowned. "What about the tip-off that he was here in Bayport?"

"An elderly lady had seen his picture on the news and thought she had seen the missing boy here. It turned out to be a local boy."

"What does Mike want you to do?" asked Joe. He was sitting up straight now, his leg no longer dangling over the side.

"I'm not sure yet," Fenton answered. "He called me this evening and asked me to drive up to New York tomorrow morning. He said there was new evidence but he wouldn't tell me over the phone."

"Can we come?" Joe asked and Fenton bit his lip.

"To be honest, Joe, I'd rather you boys weren't involved in this case."

"Why not?" asked Frank. "We could help like we did at SecuriCorp last weekend!"

"This case is more difficult, Frank."

"But we could help, Dad!" Frank protested. "And we wouldn't be in the way, I promise."

"That's not the issue!"

"Then what is?" Frank demanded.

His father looked at him sharply. "Frank, when I say no I mean no!"

Frank looked at the floor. "Sorry, Dad."

His father sighed. "I didn't mean to snap, Frank. It's just that this case hits a little closer to home then I would like."

Silence fell and Frank glanced at Joe who was staring resolutely at a spot on the wall. Eventually, Joe glanced at Frank and then looked at their father.

"I'm with Frank, Dad, I'd like to help," he said.

Fenton frowned at him. "Joe, I don't like that idea."

"Please, Dad?" he said quietly. "I'd like to help Andrew…I bet he's scared."

Fenton sighed. "Alright. You boys can help. But only with paperwork and looking over evidence. You are doing absolutely _no_ fieldwork, got that?"

They nodded and Fenton smiled. "You'd better get to bed. It's nearly one and we have an early start tomorrow."

**xxx**

Frank sat beside his father in the front seat as they drove to New York the next morning. Joe was sprawled over in the back seat. He had fallen asleep before they had even left Bayport.

"He can sleep anywhere, can't he?" said Fenton, with an affectionate glance at the prone figure in the back.

"Yup," Frank agreed. "Wish I could do the same."

"He gets it from Gertrude," said Fenton. "She was always the same. I remember being at our grandfather's playing hide and seek, and no one could find Gertrude until we heard a little snore from one of the trees in the orchard. Turns out she had hidden up a tree and fallen asleep on the branch!"

"She's lucky she didn't fall off!" Frank chuckled, the image of his aunt actually _up_ a tree as strange as the image of his aunt sleeping in a tree. "How long until we get to New York, Dad?"

"Another two hours. We can drop our stuff off at the hotel and then we'll head to the station to meet Mike."

"Did you tell him we were coming?"

Fenton shook his head. "I haven't spoken to him since yesterday afternoon."

"He's in for a surprise."

Fenton grinned. "He sure is." His smile faded. "Frank, are you sure about this? What I said last night-"

"I know what you said, Dad. Joe will be fine, he wouldn't have asked to come if he didn't want to."

"What about you?"

Frank looked at his father. "I agree with Joe. I'd like to help Andrew, bring him back to his family."

"Me too, Frank. Lets hope we do just that."

**xxx**

When they reached New York, the Hardys checked into their hotel and freshened up before heading downtown to the station.

Joe, now fully awake, watched the Saturday morning traffic-jams with interest. New York had always fascinated him. "Dad, will you still know people at the station?" he wanted to know.

"Yes," Fenton answered, his eyes glued to the road. "There are a few officers there who were there in my time, and Sam Peterson of course."

Samuel Peterson, Chief of the New York Police Department, had been their father's mentor. The boys had never met him but they had heard a lot about him. It was a meeting they were very much looking forward to.

When they finally got to the station, it was over half an hour later. "It would have been quicker walking," Joe muttered, as his father parked the car.

Fenton laughed. "True, but we might need the car to go somewhere else later."

As they entered the station, the Desk Sergeant looked up and his face split in a wide grin. "Fenton Hardy! It's been a long time!"

"Des, good to see you again," returned Fenton warmly, shaking the man's hand.

"These your boys?"

"They are. This is Frank, and this is Joe."

"Fine boys," said the man shaking their hands. "And if this one isn't the spitting image of you," he added wonderingly, staring at Frank.

"Fenton Hardy!" they heard a shout from across the room. "Well I'll be damned! What scum has dragged you down here to this hole?"

The boys turned and saw a tall, fat man making his way across the room. His uniform strained across his ample stomach, and his balding hair was combed unflatteringly to one side.

"Hello, Steve," Fenton returned as he held out his hand. "How've you been?"

"Just fine," answered the man, gripping Fenton's hand harder than necessary. "How 'bout you? I'm sure New York is a bit of a shock to the system after all those years in your cushy detective job!"

"I wouldn't exactly call it cushy," said Fenton through gritted teeth.

Frank and Joe were watching the exchange closely, noting their father's stiff stance.

_Wow, he really doesn't like this guy! _Joe realised.

"And these must be your boys?" he enquired, strolling around Fenton and coming to a halt in front of Frank and Joe. "Steve Johnson, boys," he said, holding out a grubby hand to Frank. The teenager noticed that he didn't ask for their names. Unwillingly, he took hold of the sweaty palm and shook it.

"You're just like your Daddy, ain't ya?" said the man, his face uncomfortably close to Frank's. For a moment, Frank thought he could see hate in the man's eyes, but then it was gone and he wondered if he had imagined it.

The man turned to Joe, whose expression was one of dislike as he took the man's hand. "Now this one is more like his Momma," the man continued, staring intently at Joe. "She was a pretty woman, Laura, a _very _pretty woman!" He leered a little and pinched Joe's cheek.

_Uh-oh! _thought Frank, as he watched Joe's colour rise along with his temper. He knew Joe wouldn't appreciate the dig at his mother, or being treated like a little kid. Fortunately, any explosions were averted by another voice.

"Johnson, why don't you move away from the boys before you infect them with something?" It was a woman's voice, dripping with disdain, and Steve scowled as he turned to face the speaker.

"Leona, when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it!" he snapped. Then he faced Fenton again. "See you around, Hardy."

"What a jerk!" Joe mumbled, as he walked away. Frank shot him a warning glance.

"Leona," Fenton welcomed the newcomer in a warm voice. "It's been a long time."

"And who's fault is that?" she demanded, coming into view. "Hardy, you've forgotten your roots."

"I'll never forget my roots," Fenton told the woman as he hugged her warmly. Frank and Joe stared, agog. Their father was hugging another woman!

"Boys, this is Leona Richards," he told them, letting her go and turning around. "She taught me a lot of what I know."

"Suuuure I did, you old charmer!" she rolled her eyes and came towards the boys. They saw that she was a woman several years older than their father, her dark hair tied in a pony tail. As they shook her hand and introduced themselves, the woman's firm grip and no-nonsense voice told them that, despite her small size, she would be a force to contend with.

"Mike's in the office," she told Fenton. "He's been expecting you. Come on, this way."

The boys followed their father and Leona among several rows of desks, stopping every now and then as their father was greeted by an old colleague. Finally they made it to Mike's office.

"Morning, Mike," said Fenton entering the office.

"Hi, Fent-" Mike looked up as he greeted Fenton and his voice trailed off as his eyes landed on Frank and Joe. His face took on an expression of horror. "You brought the boys?!"

"Sure," said Fenton, a little confused. "They wanted to help and I thought looking over the notes would be good practice for them. I wasn't planning on letting them do any field work and I didn't think you'd mind."

Mike was shaking his head. "This isn't the place for them."

"Mike, give them a chance," Fenton protested. "They're young but they're sharp. I wouldn't have brought them if I didn't think they were up to it."

"I don't doubt their abilities," said Mike, getting to his feet. "They're _your_ kids after all. But…not this case, Fenton."

"Why?" asked Fenton, as Frank and Joe exchanged a look.

Wordlessly, Mike picked up the folder on his desk and handed it to Fenton.

Puzzled, Fenton opened the folder. He gasped and the colour drained from his face. Frank was surprised to see his father's hand shake slightly as he closed the folder and handed it back to Mike. The two men stared at each other for several long minutes. Then Fenton turned back to where his sons and Leona stood.

"Leona, would you mind taking the boys back to the hotel?" he asked.

She nodded.

"What? Dad-" Frank began but his father cut him off.

"Don't argue with me, Frank. You two will be on the train back to Bayport this evening. I'll have your mother meet you at the station."

Joe was confused. "But, Dad, you said we could help with the case!"

"I don't care what I said!" Fenton shouted. "I don't want you within a thousand yards of this case!"

_**A/N:**__ Okay, I owe a huge thank you to Red Hardy and Whitetigers for pointing out the six foot seven mistake! I can't believe I did that! And thank you so much to everyone else who reviewed; it made my day to log in and see all the reviews. Here's chapter 2, hope you like it!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Frank and Joe stared at their father, their mouths open in shock.

"Dad, what-?" Frank tried, but his father cut him off.

"No arguments, no questions, no _nothing_, Frank! You will go with Leona back to the hotel. I will be there in an hour to put you on the train to Bayport."

As Fenton turned away, Leona turned to the boys. "Why don't you wait outside?" she said kindly to them, her expression sympathetic. "I'll be out in a minute."

With a last glance at their father, Frank and Joe left the room. The door closed behind them and they turned to one another wearing matching expressions of shock.

"What was _that_?" Joe asked Frank, dumbfounded. The older boy shrugged, his expression troubled.

They remained in silence outside the door for several minutes until it opened again and Leona came out.

"Are you ready, boys?" she asked gently.

They nodded and followed her through the precinct and out the door. She escorted them to an unmarked patrol car and they climbed in. Not a word was spoken between them during the drive back to the hotel. Leona wasn't quite sure what to say, and Frank and Joe were too perturbed at their father's out of character behaviour to speak.

They arrived back at the hotel and Leona came in with them so they could retrieve their key. They expected her to leave after that and were much surprised when she didn't.

"I told your Dad I'd keep you company until he got back," she explained as they walked towards the elevator.

"More like keep an eye on us so we can't sneak out," Joe muttered.

"Joe!" Frank hissed.

"It's okay, Frank," Leona told him. "Joe, I understand that you're upset, but you need to respect your father's wishes. He doesn't want you near this case and he has good reason for it."

"Do you know why?" Frank asked, while Joe glared mulishly at the ground.

She nodded. "But it's not my position to tell you why."

The teenager didn't ask anymore questions. He felt frustrated but was unable to give voice to it; his brother's obstinate silence was doing that more than enough for the both of them.

The elevator ride upstairs was silent and uncomfortable. Frank and Joe were disappointed and frustrated, and Leona was tense and unsure in the company of two irate teenagers. Joe was glad to finally tumble out of the claustrophobic confines of the elevator when its doors pinged open.

In their room, Frank put on the TV to cover the tense silences that fell amid the nervous small talk until Fenton reappeared in the room just under an hour later. He looked pale and grim, making the boys nervous.

"Leona, I really appreciate this," he told the woman in a low voice. "I'll put the boys on the train, then I'll see you back at the station."

"Okay, I'll see you then. Bye, boys," she called to them. "It was nice meeting you."

The boys smiled politely and thanked her, but they were itching for her to leave so they could speak to their father.

The door had no sooner closed behind her when they pounced on him.

"Okay, Dad, what gives?" Frank demanded indignantly. "You said we could help!"

"I did, and I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but Mike is right, this case is no place for either of you."

"But why?" Joe burst out. "Dad, don't you think we can do it?"

"That's not what this is about," Fenton replied. "Look, please sit down."

The boys shot each other a look and sat on their respective beds. Fenton started to pace the room in front of them.

"I let you boys come to New York with me because I thought it would be a good experience for you," he began. "I didn't realise how serious this case was. It's very important to me that you boys aren't involved in it and I need you to respect that." He finished speaking and they looked at him in anger.

"That's it? That's your explanation?" Frank demanded. "Dad, that tells us nothing!"

"Exactly! I said I don't want you involved and that means not even telling you about it! Now, you boys must be hungry. We have a few hours before the next train so-"

"You were serious about the train?" Joe was shocked. "Dad-"

His father held up his hand. "I'm sorry, Joe. I know you two are disappointed but this is the way it's going to be."

"We get no say in it?" said Frank bitterly.

"None," said his father sadly. "I'm sorry, Frank."

"But why?" Frank was upset. "We won't say a word to anyone, you can trust us. If you just tell us-"

"NO!" his father shouted, then lowered his voice. "This has nothing to do with doubting your abilities or not trusting you. I just don't want you near this case, okay? Can we just leave it at that?"

The three Hardys stared at one another unhappily. Finally, Frank sighed. "Okay, Dad."

Fenton looked at his youngest son. "Joe?"

Joe looked upset and bit his lip, then nodded. "Okay."

Their father smiled at them, but it was a little strained. "Thank you, boys. Now lets get you some lunch, okay?

Lunch was quiet and forced. Fenton seemed distracted and on edge, and was constantly looking around. It made Frank and Joe feel very uncomfortable and they kept glancing at each other, unsure how to deal with their father like this. It was almost a relief when it was time to get the train.

"You mother will meet you at the station," Fenton told them. "So no getting off at stops along the way and coming back, got that?"

The boys nodded.

"Good." Fenton smiled and hugged them both. "I'll see you in a few days."

Frank and Joe got on the train, still upset and uneasy. Their father's behaviour was most out of character. As they took their seats, they could see Fenton standing on the platform, watching them. Joe raised his hand in a small half-hearted wave and his father smiled sadly back.

**xxx**

"Bayport Station will be our next stop," announced an automated voice.

Frank sat up from where he was huddled on his seat and looked out the window. They were pulling into Bayport Station. Quickly, he reached over and shook his brother who had fallen asleep.

"Joe! Wake up! We're here."

"Huh? Wassat?" Joe sat up, his blond hair mussed. "Oh, right."

The boys gathered their bags quickly. As they hopped off the train and made their way to the station's entrance, they heard a voice call them.

"Frank! Joe!"

They turned and saw their mother waving to them. She hurried towards them and they were surprised to see that she looked a little agitated.

"Hi, boys," she greeted them, her voice overly-bright. "You were up and gone with the lark this morning, I didn't even see you to ask you about the party. How was it?"

"Okay," Frank replied, glancing at Joe. They could see their father had told their mother more than he had told them.

"And how was Nick?" asked Laura, still in the same too-bright tone as they exited the station and crossed the parking lot.

"He was good," Joe answered.

"I'll bet Sheila is glad to have him back home," Laura continued, referring to Biff's mother.

"I suppose," Frank said uncomfortably as his mother unlocked the car. "We didn't really talk to her."

"That's nice," his mother muttered absently.

"Mom, what's going on with Dad?" Joe asked, sitting into the car.

His mother glanced quickly at him in the rear view mirror. "Nothing, honey. He just doesn't think this case is suitable for you."

"But why?" Joe persisted and his mother averted her eyes.

"I really don't know," she mumbled.

"Mom, come on!" Frank begged. "We know he told you. What is it?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Mom, please?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry boys, but I happen to agree with your father and I'm glad he sent you home. This case is not something you should be involved with."

"Mom-" Frank tried again.

"Please, Frank, just drop it!" she snapped, then softened her tone. "I'm sorry. I know you're disappointed but you boys need to learn that as your parents, we're only doing what's best for you."

Joe was silent while Frank nodded and said, "Okay, Mom. I'm sorry."

**xxx**

"And he didn't tell you why?" asked Tony the next day when Frank had finished telling them about what had happened in New York. They were on their way to the Marina to see Mr. Prito's new boat, and Frank was driving.

"Not a word," Frank replied gloomily. "And Mom wasn't talking either."

"Weird," Chet shook his head. "Your Dad usually tells you about all of his cases, even the bad ones!"

"Which makes you wonder how bad this one really is," Joe muttered.

Frank glanced at his brother. Joe had been very quiet ever since they returned home from New York. He knew he was thinking about Andrew Watson and was feeling bad about not being able to help him. Joe understood only too well the fear the missing boy must be feeling right now.

"Look at it this way," said Iola, trying to cheer Joe up. "If you hadn't come back last night, then you wouldn't be coming out on the boat with us today."

"That's true," Joe admitted with a slight smile as he glanced back at Iola whose small frame was squashed in between Chet and Tony. She grinned back.

"And Callie's coming too," Tony interjected, giving Frank a sly smile. The Hardy boy immediately blushed and Joe couldn't help but snigger at his brother's discomfort. Frank shot him a dark look.

"Has Callie got a ride to the Marina?" he asked Iola.

"Yeah. She got her car back and she's picking Biff and Phil up too."

"She got her car back?" repeated Chet, surprised. "When?"

"Yesterday," replied Iola. "But they still haven't caught the jerk who crashed into her."

"I wonder why someone driving a stolen car would draw so much attention to themselves?" Tony wondered.

"Probably some kid who panicked and tried to ditch the car as quickly as possible," Frank guessed.

"He's lucky no one was hurt!" snorted Iola in disgust.

"Well, lets not let some idiot ruin our day," said Tony as Frank drove down by the docks.

Callie, Biff and Phil were standing there waiting. "Hey, what kept you guys?" Biff called.

"Frank. He drives like Aunt Gertrude!" Joe joked, then ducked to avoid a slap on the shoulder by his brother. Iola giggled.

"Come on, guys!" said Tony impatiently. "Lets get going!"

The teenagers all followed Tony down to a little boat shed towards the end of the dock. "Wait till you see it, guys," said Tony, as he fumbled with the lock. "Dad hasn't put a name on the boat yet, but he's thinking of calling it _The Napoli_."

"That sounds-Wow!" Phil exclaimed as Tony threw open the door to reveal a gleaming red motorboat.

"I know! Isn't it great?" said Tony gleefully, clambering into the boat. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded as he turned to face them expectantly.

They needed no further invitation and piled into the boat, laughing and chattering.

"Er, Tony?" Callie questioned, looking a little nervous. "You do know how to drive this thing?"

"Bit late to be asking now, Cal!" Iola grinned, as Tony started the boat. "But don't worry, Tony knows what he's doing."

"I've been sailing boats since I was twelve," Tony reassured her. "So relax and enjoy the ride."

He guided the boat slowly out of its shed, before shooting off across the open water. The teenagers all revelled in the gush of the open sea air.

"Alright! This is great!" Joe cheered from his vantage point at the front of the boat and Frank grinned at his brother's exuberance. He was pleased to see he had forgotten about the case, if only for a little while. Turning to speak to Tony, Frank paused as he felt someone's fingers digging into his arm.

It was Callie.

Frank had not realised that she was sitting beside him. Leaning towards her, he tapped her arm. "Are you okay?"

"What?" she looked back, a little pale. "Oh, Frank! I'm sorry!" she gasped, as she realised that she was clutching his arm and immediately removed her fingers.

"It's okay!" he was quick to reassure her. "But are you alright? You seem a little nervous."

"I'm fine," she gave him a shaky smile. "I just haven't been in a boat in a very long time."

"Why?"

"It's a long story," she replied softly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Just give me a few minutes to find my sea legs again." She gave him a small smile and Frank could feel a familiar heat stealing over his face.

Why did he always have to blush when Callie Shaw smiled at him like that?

"Hey, who wants sandwiches?" they heard Chet call from behind them and turned around to see him opening his bag and pulling out what was obviously a picnic lunch.

"Trust you to be the one to remember to bring food," said Tony from beside Chet, shaking his head.

"Well someone had to!" Chet retorted. "And you'll be thanking me when you guys start to feel hungry."

They were now quite far out on the Bay and Tony killed the motor. "Hey, guys? Do any of you feel like having something to eat here? Chet brought sustenance."

"Oh yeah, tease me and then take my food!" Chet muttered good naturedly, passing out the sandwiches.

Everybody laughed.

The afternoon soon shone brightly overhead while the Bayport teenagers chatted and enjoyed their little meal.

"Pity we didn't think to bring our suits," Tony commented, lying against the side of the boat. "It's a nice day for swimming."

"I'm too full to swim," Joe groaned.

"Serves you right," said Iola from beside him. "You ate four sandwiches…and half of mine!"

"And you guys tell me I have an appetite," Chet interjected. "Now, aren't you glad I brought so much food?"

"Yes, Chet, you are the man!" Biff teased him lazily.

"Hey, guys," said Callie. "What's that little Island all the way out there?"

Frank glanced over at the tiny speck she was pointing to in the distance. "That's Edmund's Rock," he told her. "Nobody lives there and the light house is the only building on it, but it's a pretty spot."

"Are people allowed on it?" asked Callie, still staring with interest at the Island.

"Sure," Tony answered. "We can take a spin over there now if you like?"

"Really? Are you sure you guys wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not," Frank reassured her. "It's a nice spot."

"Thanks, Tony," said Callie happily as Tony started the boat again. "I really appreciate this. I love Islands, I think they're so romantic!"

"Trust a girl to think that!" Joe groaned and Iola nudged him hard in the ribs.

"Ouch!" he said, turning to look at her. "What was-hey, who's that?" he called, pointing behind Iola's head.

They all turned to look. A large black motorboat was coming towards them at an alarming speed.

"He's right in our path, he's going to ram us if he's not careful," said Tony worriedly, slowing the speed of his own boat.

"What does that idiot think he's doing?" said Frank angrily, trying to signal the other boat. The other boat either didn't see him or ignored him, continuing its course towards their boat.

"I don't like this," Tony muttered, quickly manoeuvring his own boat out of the other boat's path. _The Napoli _was big, but this boat was bigger and had more engine power; if there was a collision, they would not come out the best.

They watched anxiously as the other boat shot past them, then quickly circled around and came back towards them again. _The Napoli _rocked violently in the current and they all clenched their hands against the side.

Callie was digging her fingers into Frank's arm again, but this time he could see that she looked really scared. "Tony, get us out of here!" he hissed in a low voice.

"I'm trying!" said Tony through gritted teeth. "But I can't get past that other boat!

The large black boat was now circling around _The Napoli_, coming closer with each sharp turn and spraying them with water. The boat rocked violently again and Frank felt Callie being thrown against him. He grabbed the side of the boat with one hand to keep from toppling over the edge, and put the other around Callie.

_He's trying to capsize our boat! _Frank realised, as the other boat drove straight at them and swerved at the last minute. Tony, he could see, was pale faced and grim as he attempted to manoeuvre _The Napoli _away from the other boat.

But the other boat wouldn't even let him pick up speed, circling around them in fast, unpredictable circles.

"Hey! That's Kenneth Nash!" cried Iola suddenly.

Kenneth Nash was in Frank's year in school. He was a running back on the High School football team and one of the biggest bullies in the school. The fact that he had a wealthy father who was always there to bail him out of trouble made matters worse; Kenneth Nash thought he could get away with anything.

"Dammit!" Tony muttered under his breath as the boat swerved even nearer this time, spraying them all with water. Their boat tipped and nearly capsized, and Frank had to hold very tightly to the side to stop himself and Callie going over.

Quickly, he looked up to make sure no one had fallen out. Everyone was still in the boat but there was panic near the front. Frank's eyes narrowed as he realised that Iola was holding her hand to the side of her head. He could see blood through her fingers, and Joe and Biff were leaning towards her in concern.

Joe caught his eye.

"She hit her head on the side of the boat!" he shouted.

"This is getting out of control," Frank muttered. "Tony, can't you do anything?"

"I'm trying, but every time we get a clear path, his boat cuts us off. Frank, I can't just drive past him…his boat is bigger than ours and he could do some serious damage if he hits us!"

_That jerk! _thought Frank, his anger starting to simmer. He could feel Callie shaking in fear beside him and Iola needed medical attention.

He glanced at his brother. Joe's face was red with anger as he stared at the black boat now speeding towards them again. "NASH! YOU JERK!" he bellowed as he stood up.

"JOE! SIT DOWN!" Frank yelled, fear taking hold as the other boat swerved around them once more and set the boat rocking again. Iola, who was still holding her bleeding head with one hand, was unable to keep her balance and slid down the seat and crashed into Joe, sending the younger Hardy flying off the boat and into Barmet Bay.

_**A/N:**__ Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter; Red Hardy, Whitetigers, Josie Hardy, KCS and Lyz. Hope you enjoy this one as well!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"JOE!" Frank cried as he watched his brother plunge into the water. Quickly he let go of Callie and readied himself to dive over the side. Tony, however, grabbed his arm and forced him to sit.

"Frank! What are you doing?"

Frank was about to open his mouth to retort when Joe's head broke the surface of the water several yards away.

"See?" said Tony. "Joe was fine, he just fell over."

"Uh-huh," said Frank anxiously, watching as Joe started to swim back towards them.

But Kenneth Nash wasn't finished. His boat came tearing towards them again and Joe was right in his path.

"JOE! GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Frank screamed, watching horrified as Joe tried to dive out of the way of the big motorboat.

He nearly made it. However, the big boat started to swerve a little and smacked his head hard. Joe disappeared beneath the waves.

This time, Frank and Biff both sprang to their feet and pulled off their shoes. Tony killed the engine as the two boys dived overboard. Kenneth Nash, he noted angrily, was speeding away.

_He must have realised he hit Joe! _Tony fumed, then returned his attention to the water.

Frank had headed straight for where his brother sank and dived down. Biff, on the other hand, had dropped straight below the water surface where he had landed. The teenagers in the boat sat in agonised silence waiting for them to return. Two minutes later, Biff appeared followed closely by Frank. Both boys gasped in another lungful of air and dived again.

Frank was starting to panic. The waters of Barmet Bay were dark and murky. It was difficult to tell what direction he was diving towards. He could feel the current tugging strongly at him and was terrified that it had dragged Joe away from the boat. His lungs screaming for air, Frank swam quickly upwards and as his head broke the surface of the water, he saw Biff's blond one diving down again. He glanced briefly back at the boat to gather his bearings then took a deep breath and dived again.

This time, he swam as far downwards as he could. Maybe Joe had just sank, maybe he hadn't drifted out? Frank was praying as he swam lower and lower. Frantically, he scanned the sea bed and got lucky. His brother floated limply in the water several feet away, his foot caught in some netting. His own lungs were near to bursting point as he swam quickly towards Joe. Quickly, he reached down to free Joe's foot, but it was utterly snarled in the netting. Frank tugged desperately at it but it wouldn't budge. Terrified and desperate, Frank tried to pull Joe upwards but he couldn't lift him. The dark haired boy glanced down and saw that the net was anchored.

Almost at the point of passing out, Frank was forced to swim back up again. Choking and spluttering, he sucked in a lungful of air before screaming, "BIFF! OVER HERE! I CAN'T GET HIM LOOSE!" Another deep gulp of air and Frank was sinking again.

_Oh God, Joe! Please be alright! _he prayed as he reached his brother again and started to tug at the net. He felt movement to his right and turned to see Biff and Tony. They didn't even look at Frank as Tony reached into his back pocket and pulled out a knife. Together, he and Frank hacked at the net while Biff positioned himself behind Joe.

_Almost free_, thought Frank, cutting his hands on the net as he pulled the strong ropes apart where Tony had slashed them. Suddenly, he froze, horrified. There were eyes in the net staring back at him!

He didn't have time to wonder. Tony yanked his arm and pulled him upwards. Joe was free and Biff was swimming topside as fast as he could with him. Frank quickly tore after them, Tony beside him.

"CHET! GET THE BOAT OVER HERE!" Tony yelled, as soon as they broke the surface again. Frank swam over to Biff who was holding Joe's limp form and trying to keep his head above water. All three boys were exhausted.

_The Napoli _glided up beside them. Immediately, Chet and Phil reached down and pulled Joe aboard. Then they heaved Frank back in.

As he stumbled into the boat, he saw they had laid Joe out on the bottom. Iola was frantically trying to resuscitate him, blood running down the side of her face.

_NO! _Frank's mind screamed at him, and he dove towards them and shoved Iola out of the way before forcing air down Joe's throat with mouth-to-mouth breathing.

Iola didn't comment. Instead, she placed her hand over Joe's chest and started chest compressions. "One…Two…Three…Four…Five…" she counted, keeping a steady rhythm. Every time she reached five, Frank blew more air down Joe's throat.

_Come on, Joe! Breathe! Please! _Frank begged, as the boat started up. He could hear Biff shouting at Tony to get back to the dock.

Joe was not responding. He was ice cold and his skin was blue. Frank could feel hot tears burning his eyes as he leaned forward and continued to blow air down his brother's throat. Iola was still counting as she pumped on his chest, but her voice was quavering.

Terror and panic started to take hold of Frank as the boat bounced over the waves. "JOE! WAKE UP!" he yelled and thumped his brother's chest. Immediately, strong hands pulled him back and Phil took over giving Joe mouth-to-mouth. Frank looked around to see Biff holding him in place.

"Easy, Frank," he said in a low voice, but Frank could see he was pale with fear. Chet had taken over the chest compressions from Iola, who was kneeling, exhausted and scared, beside him.

As they pulled into the dock, Tony roared for help. Several men came running up and helped to lift Joe onto the dock, where they took over from the teenagers in giving CPR. Frank clambered up the steps wildly behind them.

"I've called an ambulance!" someone yelled as he knelt beside his brother and the men trying to save his life.

"Joe, come on, breath! Please!" Frank begged.

But the minutes were ticking past and nothing was happening. Frank closed his eyes and prayed. _Please, God! Please! Come on, Joe_…

And then he heard it…coughing.

Frank opened his eyes just in time to see the men rolling his brother onto his side, while Joe spewed out a mass of dirty sea water.

"Atta boy, cough it up!" one of the men murmured as Joe choked and heaved, then lay still. The man reached for his wrist and nodded. "He has a pulse."

"Thank you!" Frank gibbered at the man, relief washing over him. "Thank you!"

"The ambulance is coming," said Tony, kneeling down beside Frank as an approaching wail was heard.

"What were you kids doing out there?" demanded a wizened old sailor from where he stood watching them. "I saw you playing chicken with that other boat! Are you crazy?"

"That wasn't us!" snapped Biff at once. "The other boat drove at us and kept trying to capsize us!"

"It's true," said Phil quietly. "We all saw it."

"And we know who it is too!" declared Iola angrily. "Kenneth Nash. And he nearly got Joe killed!"

Frank's head snapped up. Iola was right. Cold fury took over and he swallowed as he glanced back at his brother's unconscious form. _Kenneth Nash was going to be sorry_…

A loud siren told them the ambulance had just pulled into the dock. Frank looked up and saw the paramedics jump out and come hurrying towards them. The men beside him quickly stood up to make room for them.

"Will he be okay?" Frank asked anxiously as the paramedics examined Joe.

"And you are…?" one of the paramedics queried.

"His brother."

"He should be fine. But we need to get him over to the hospital to get checked out. Do you want to come with us?"

"Yes," replied Frank at once, getting to his feet.

"Sorry, sonny," said one of the men who had helped Joe. "But don't you think the little lady should go with him? She looks like she needs the hospital too." He pointed towards Iola and everyone turned to look.

The petite girl was still bleeding, and Frank could see she had a nasty gash on the side of her head. His stomach sinking, Frank nodded. "Okay, I'll follow in the car," he whispered.

"No!" said Iola loudly and everyone turned to look at her again. "Frank, go with Joe. I'm sure one of the guys will drive me to the hospital."

"Iola, you can't-" Frank tried but she scowled crossly at him.

"Frank, I'm fine! Go with Joe."

"I can drive her in your car," Tony offered and Frank smiled gratefully at him.

"Okay. Thanks, Tony. Just let me get you the keys." He reached into his sopping wet pocket and found nothing. "They're gone!" he exclaimed, looking up. "My keys are gone!"

"They must have fallen out when you were in the water," said Phil and Frank groaned.

"What are you going to do?" asked Chet.

"My Mom has a spare set, but…" Frank's voice trailed off and he stared miserably at Joe, whom the paramedics had now loaded onto a stretcher.

"You need them now?" finished Biff quietly and Frank nodded.

"We need to go now," one of the paramedics interrupted them and Frank stared at the ground. He really wanted to go with his brother.

"Um, I can drive Iola to the hospital," a voice volunteered and they all turned around to see Callie staring at Frank tentatively. She was pale and scared looking, and Frank realised that in all the panic, he had forgotten she was even there.

"You sure you don't mind?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Of course not. I can bring anyone who needs a lift."

"Thank you, Callie," said Frank with a grateful smile.

The paramedics started to move towards the ambulance and Frank moved to follow them, then froze. "Tony! I nearly forgot, we need to call the police."

"Don't worry, Frank," said Tony, his face grim. "I'll call them. Kenneth Nash won't get away with this!"

"No!" said Frank confused. "Not just about…Tony, didn't you see it?"

Now it was Tony's turn to be confused. "See what?"

"There was a body in that net," Frank answered quietly.

**xxx**

Frank's mother arrived at Bayport Hospital not long after the ambulance. Tony had called her from the Marina.

"Frank!" she cried, pale with fright. "What happened? Where's Joe?"

"With the doctors," said Frank as he hugged his mother. "They haven't said how he is yet."

"What happened?" Laura asked again.

Frank gave his mother a brief explanation of the events on the bay. When he was finished, she was white with rage.

"That stupid boy!" she hissed. "He could have killed someone!"

"Tony's going to call the police," said Frank. "Mom, I think there was a body in the net!"

"A what?!" she gaped at him.

"A body, I could see its eyes," said Frank and shuddered.

"Oh, honey!" Laura leaned over and hugged Frank tightly. In all the panic, she hadn't noticed how pale and shaken he looked. "Are you okay?"

Frank nodded numbly. "Did you call Dad?"

Laura shook her head. "I couldn't reach him. I left a note for Gertrude and asked her to call him."

They fell silent and glanced at the doors into the exam room. What was taking so long?

They thought had no sooner crossed their minds when the door opened and a tall, pretty doctor walked towards them. Frank could see that her name badge read Dr. Geller. "Are you the Hardys?" she asked.

"Yes. How's Joe?" demanded Laura.

"He's one very lucky boy," the doctor answered. "He's taken a nasty knock to the head and he's pretty shaken up, but he should be fine. We'll be keeping him in overnight for observation just to be safe."

"Where is he?" Frank asked.

"Exam room three," replied Dr. Geller. "You can go in and see him but I'm afraid he's still pretty out of it. He'll need to rest a for a day or two to get back on his feet."

"Where is exam room three?" Laura asked.

"Straight down and to the right," she replied, indicating with her finger to the end of the hall.

"Thank you, Doctor," said Laura as she and Frank set off down the hall. They nearly collided with Chet as he exited from another room.

"Frank! How's Joe?" he asked at once.

"He should be fine," said Frank tiredly. "They're keeping him in overnight just to be sure. I never saw you guys arrive. How's Iola?"

"She needs stitches," Chet grimaced. "She's getting them now. I didn't really want to watch so Callie stayed with her."

"Has someone called your parents?" asked Laura.

Chet nodded. "Tony did, right after he called you, Mrs. Hardy. They're on their way now."

"What about the police?" Frank wanted to know.

"They've been called. They're going to want a statement from all of us," Chet answered. "Search and rescue are heading out there too…Frank, did you really see a body in the water?"

The dark haired teenager bit his lip. "I thought I did, but I can't be sure."

"Boy, I sure hope you're wrong," Chet muttered.

"So do I," said Frank grimly. "Look, Chet, we're just going down to see Joe now. Can I call you later?"

"Sure, Frank, no problem."

"Thanks-Oh, Chet!" Frank had started down the hall when he turned again. "Do me a favour? Tell Callie I said thanks for bringing Iola in and letting me go with Joe."

Chet nodded. "I'll tell her. See you later, Frank."

"Bye."

Frank and his mother set off down the corridor again. "This Callie sounds like a nice girl," Laura prompted carefully.

"She is," Frank mumbled, blushing.

"Maybe you should call her and thank her yourself instead of having Chet do it?" Laura suggested, smiling a little.

"Maybe," Frank mumbled again as his mother stopped outside a door with the number three on it and pushed it open.

The entered the room. Joe was asleep, but a nurse stood beside him giving him an IV. "Hello," she greeted them in a soft whisper. "Are you his mother?"

"Yes," Laura answered quietly. "What's that for?" She pointed to the IV.

"Just some antibiotics to counteract any after effects of being immersed in the bay," the nurse smiled. "It's nothing serious and I'm just about finished."

As the nurse gathered up her things, she addressed them kindly. "He's still out of it, but he should be coming around soon. If I can get you anything, just buzz me."

"Thank you, Nurse," said Laura and sat into the chair beside Joe's bed. She waited until the nurse had closed the door before turning to Frank. "Honey? As soon as Joe comes around, I want you to go home."

"What? But, Mom-"

Laura held up her hand. "No arguments, Frank. Your clothes are still wet and you're shaking. I want you home before you catch pneumonia."

"I'll be fine," he insisted.

"Please, Frank?" said his mother softly. "You can pick up the car on the way - here are the spare keys - and you can let Gertrude know how Joe is. It would be a big help to me."

"Besides, you look like a drowned rat!" a hoarse voice said weakly and they turned to stare at Joe. He was awake and peering at them tiredly.

"Joe!" Frank exclaimed. "Are you okay? Man, you scared the hell out of me!"

"Why? What'd I do?" he mumbled, his eyes closing.

"Took an extensive dive," Frank answered with a smile as Joe drifted off to sleep again. His brother would be fine, but he was obviously too exhausted to hear the whole story right now. Frank glanced at his mother and realised how stressed she looked. He sighed.

"Alright, Mom. I'll go home and collect the car on the way."

"Thank you, honey," said Laura gratefully. "I'll be home later."

**xxx**

"FRANK!" Gertrude shrieked at him as soon as he got home. "I've been so worried! Is Joe okay?"

"Joe's going to be fine," said Frank soothingly, raising his hands to placate his frantic aunt. "The doctors are just keeping him in for observation."

"Where's Laura?"

"At the hospital. She'll be home later."

"Why didn't you stay?" his aunt demanded peering at her nephew's pale face. "That's not like you…are you alright?"

"Fine," said Frank wearily, although he was exhausted. A taxi had dropped him to the Marina where he had picked up his mother's car. He had driven home very slowly, afraid that he would fall asleep at the wheel.

Gertrude looked at him suspiciously. "You don't look fine. You're very pale and…why are you wet? Frank, what exactly happened this afternoon?"

The teenager sighed and quickly recounted the afternoon's events. As he expected, his aunt exploded with anger.

"That young scoundrel!" she shrieked, pacing the floor and shaking her fist. "They should lock him up! Have they locked him up? Frank, call the police right this minute! What way did his parents raise him? Do they know what that young pup has done?

Frank would have laughed at his aunt's dramatic anger and indignation if he hadn't been feeling so furious himself. He was ready to kill Kenneth Nash. His stupidity had nearly cost his brother his life and Frank wouldn't soon forget it; Nash was going to be very sorry when he got his hands on him.

Gertrude calmed down a little when she saw Frank's grim expression; she recognised the flash of dangerous anger in the teenager's eyes. "Frank, call the police and let them handle it," she told him firmly. "Don't go getting into trouble on that brat's account."

"The police have already been called," said Frank shortly.

"Well then, there's nothing more you can do!" his aunt declared. "Go upstairs and change out of those wet things, I'll make you some hot soup and a sandwich."

"Thanks, Aunt Gertrude," said Frank tiredly, heading up the stairs.

Quickly, he took a hot shower and changed his clothes. Then he called Phil.

The quiet boy answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Phil? It's Frank."

"Frank! How's Joe?" he asked at once.

"He'll be fine," said Frank. "The doctors are keeping him in overnight for observation."

Phil heaved a sigh of relief. "That's good. What about Iola? Did you hear from Chet?"

"She needed stitches."

"Stitches?" Phil gave an angry snort. "Poor Iola. And Joe was very lucky, Kenneth Nash could have killed him! What was Nash thinking?"

Frank didn't reply. He could feel hot anger rising again at just the mention of Nash's name.

"Frank?" Phil's voice sounded on the line. "Have you talked to the police yet?"

"No. Have you?"

"Yeah, we all did after you guys left for the hospital. They questioned Biff and Tony for _ages_ about the body!"

"About the body? What about Kenneth Nash?" Frank demanded.

"They questioned them about him too!" said Phil hurriedly. "But they wanted to know about the body as well. The only thing is, neither Tony or Biff saw it."

"I'm still not really sure if I saw it," Frank admitted. "I think I must have been hallucinating."

"You weren't. Search and Rescue pulled a body from the water," Phil told him quietly.

"There really was one?" Frank was shocked. He had convinced himself that in all of the panic he had only imagined it. "Do they know who it is?"

"No."

"Did they say what happened?"

Phil gave a weak chuckle. "Ever the detective. Frank, do you really think they're going to tell a couple of teenagers about their findings?"

"Good point." Frank sighed. "Look, Phil, I'm really exhausted. Would you mind calling the rest of the guys and letting them know that Joe is okay?"

"Of course. Will you be in school tomorrow?"

"Probably."

"Okay. See you then, Frank."

"Bye."

Frank hung up the phone and made his way slowly downstairs. He was feeling rather shocked. The afternoon's events had taken a lot out of him, and the revelation that he had really seen a body left him felling rather ill. The teenager entered the kitchen and the smell of his aunt's tomato soup hit him.

"It's about time!" said Gertrude. "I was beginning to think you'd fallen asleep up there."

"I called Phil," Frank explained, sitting at the table. "I wanted to let him know about Joe, and asked him to call the others."

"Good idea," smiled his aunt approvingly. "You're far too tired to be calling everyone this evening. You should have an early night."

"I'll go to bed once Mom comes home," said Frank as his aunt placed a bowl of soup and a sandwich in front of him. "Thanks, Aunt Gertrude."

Just then the phone rang. "I'll get it!" said his aunt at once. "You, eat!"

She hurried into the hall to answer the phone while Frank remained at the table. He hadn't realised how chilled he was until the delicious warmth of the soup heated him up as it slid down his throat.

Frank had nearly finished his meal when his aunt returned to the kitchen.

"That was your father," she announced. "I couldn't reach him earlier and left him a message to ring home at once."

"What did he say?"

"He's furious," Gertrude told him. "He'll be home tomorrow afternoon to have a word with that boy's parents himself."

"I hope he gets Nash arrested!" Frank muttered.

His aunt smiled grimly as she filled the kettle and started to make some tea. "I'm sure Fenton will see to it that that boy gets what he deserves!"

Frank got up and carried his plates to the sink. He was just about to offer to clean up when the doorbell rang.

"Now who is that?" asked his aunt irritably.

"I'll get it," Frank offered and headed out of the kitchen. He crossed the hall and pulled open the front door. Con Riley stood there on the doorstep along with another officer. They both looked very serious.

Evening, Frank," Con greeted him. "Can we come in?"

Frank nodded and stood aside to let them in. They stepped into the hall just as Gertrude appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She looked rather surprised to see them.

"Evening, Miss. Hardy," said Con quietly. "Sorry to barge in unannounced like this, but we need to ask Frank a few questions about this afternoon."

Gertrude's mouth thinned. "Would you like to go into the living room?"

"Yes, please," Con responded and she led the way. As soon as the men were seated she offered them some tea.

"No thank you, Miss. Hardy," Con replied politely. "I'm sure Frank is tired and we won't keep him anymore than we have to."

Gertrude nodded. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Actually, Miss. Hardy, we need you to stay," said Con. "Frank is a minor, and we can't question him without a parent or guardian present."

"Frank isn't in any trouble, is he?" demanded Gertrude sharply.

"No," Con reassured her. "Frank isn't in trouble."

Gertrude seated herself beside Frank, but kept a suspicious glare directed at the two officers. Frank saw her face and swallowed. He hadn't told her about the body.

"Frank, why don't you tell us everything that happened this afternoon?" Con asked quietly.

Frank told them everything that happened in detail, from when they had left the Marina to the point when Kenneth Nash had hit Joe. He could hear his aunt sniffing and muttering furiously under her breath as she heard the story in detail. When Frank got to the part about the body in the net, she let out a horrified gasp.

"Frank! You never said!" Gertrude was white with shock. "Con, did he really…I mean, was there…?" she stopped, unable to get the words out.

But Con understood her question. "Unfortunately, Frank did see a body in the bay. Search and Rescue recovered it a few hours ago."

Gertrude put one hand to her mouth, too appalled to speak. She grasped Frank's hand with the other while Con watched her sympathetically.

Frank, however, had another worry.

"Con, you all seem more interested in this body than in the fact that Kenneth Nash nearly killed Joe!" he accused.

"We're taking Kenneth Nash's actions very seriously, Frank," Con replied. "But this business with the body is rather serious too, and we have to look into it."

"I understand that," said Frank. "But what's going to happen with Nash?"

"We don't know yet," Con admitted. "He's a minor and can't be charged as an adult. And his father has already started legal proceedings to protect him."

"I'll bet!" snapped Frank bitterly. William Nash, Kenneth's father, was a successful lawyer and had gotten his son out of many scrapes before.

"Don't worry," Con consoled him. "We're investigating today very thoroughly, Frank, and I'm sure your mother and father have no intention of letting this go either."

"You'd better believe it!" Gertrude cut in furiously. "Fenton will be back tomorrow and I know he'll ensure that this boy gets what's coming to him!"

"I'm sure he will, Miss. Hardy," said Con gently. "And there are a lot of eye witness accounts to what happened today, along with the fact that Joe and Iola Morten had to be taken to hospital. I'm sure even William Nash will have a hard time getting his son out of this one."

"Is that everything?" Frank asked and Con nodded.

"We'll call you if we have any more questions, Frank. And when Joe is feeling up to it, we'll talk to him too. We're just on our way out to the Morton's to speak with Chet and Iola.

Frank and Gertrude smiled at Con, mollified. They knew he would do everything he could to see that Kenneth Nash was punished for this.

"Con?" said Frank, as the officer stood up. "Have you identified the body yet?"

The officer looked uncomfortable. "No, we haven't, Frank. And it may take some time."

"Why?"

"I can't say," Con told him, not quite meeting Frank's eyes. "I'm sorry, Frank, but it's a police investigation."

"Okay," said Frank, but he was troubled. Con had sounded spooked and in all the years he had known him, Frank had never seen Con scared.

He had a feeling things were about to get very messy in the quiet town of Bayport.

_**A/N:**__ A question was raised about Joe in the last chapter and I feel I'd better point out that my Joe is based on 'Bluespine/Digest Joe' as I find 'Casefile Joe' to be too much of a skirt chaser. So you'll find that Joe in my stories (although still an impetuous joker) is not quite such a flirt!_

_And once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter...you have no idea how much it makes my day to see all your comments. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The next morning Frank left early for school, leaving his aunt to tell his mother about the visit from the Police the evening before. It had been late when Laura returned exhausted from the hospital, and Gertrude had felt it would be better to let her get some sleep before they told her about Con's visit.

Frank scowled to himself as he walked down the almost empty school corridor. He understood that the discovery of the body was very serious and warranted an investigation, but he was also afraid, despite Con's reassurances, that its discovery would overshadow what Kenneth Nash had done. His actions had nearly gotten Joe killed and Frank wanted to see him punished for it.

_Nash better hope he doesn't run into me! _he seethed furiously.

Muttering darkly to himself, Frank never spotted Chet and Iola until he ran straight into them.

"Whoa! Sorry, guys," he apologised at once. "I didn't see you."

"That's okay. How's Joe?" asked Iola anxiously.

"He'll be fine," Frank assured her. "He just needs to rest for a day or two, the doctors are letting him home this afternoon."

"That's good," said Chet with relief. "Phil called us, but we were still a little worried."

Frank nodded. "What about you?" he asked, pointing to the large white gauze that covered Iola's temple. "Should you be at school today?"

Iola waved away his concerns. "It's just a few stitches. But, Frank, what about Nash? The police called around yesterday evening, but they seemed more interested in the body then what he had done!"

"I know," said Frank tersely. "But Con promised me that they would look into it."

"Look into it?" repeated Chet angrily. "What's to look into? He nearly got Joe killed!"

"I don't like it either, Chet, but they have to follow protocol. So can we just trust them to do their job?" Frank was feeling more than a little disconcerted at hearing his own fears voiced back at him.

Chet grunted his displeasure at hearing this, but dropped the subject.

"What about the body?" asked Iola. "Have they identified it yet?"

"No." Frank shook his head and Chet shuddered.

"Imagine a body actually turning up like that in Barmet Bay! Think it was an accident, Frank?"

"I doubt it," said Frank grimly. "Con Riley wouldn't give me any details last night, but he seemed pretty rattled by it."

Chet lapsed into troubled silence and Iola bit her lip. They both looked disturbed by Frank's words.

"Frank!" another voice shouted.

The three of them turned to see Callie hurrying up the hall towards them. "How's Joe?" she asked breathlessly.

"He'll be fine," said Frank, feeling the familiar butterflies in his stomach. "Just needs to rest up for a day or two."

"Oh, good," she smiled warmly at him and Frank felt his face go warm.

"Callie, thanks…for yesterday. For driving Iola to the hospital so I could go with Joe. I really appreciate it."

"It was no problem," she answered softly. "I'm glad he's okay."

By now, the crowd in the hall had grown and the four teenagers felt themselves being jostled back and forth. Several of the other kids were staring curiously at Frank and Iola, and the Hardy Boy guessed that news of the previous day's events had already begun to circulate.

"I think we'd better get to class," ventured Chet. "The bell will be going any minute now."

"Good idea," Frank muttered, already intensely uncomfortable beneath the stares of the other students. The teenagers said their goodbyes and scattered to attend their various classes.

**xxx**

The school day passed agonizingly slowly for Frank. He was tired of the whispered stares aimed in his direction, and was anxious to get home and see Joe. Their mother had said she would bring him home from the hospital around lunch time, and despite knowing that his brother was fine, Frank would feel much more at ease once he could see it with his own eyes.

When the final bell rang to signal the end of the school day, Frank quickly gathered his things together and said a hurried goodbye to his friends before rushing home.

"Mom? Joe?" he called as he came through the front door.

"In the kitchen, honey," came the reply.

He headed for the kitchen, relief washing over him when he saw Joe sitting at the kitchen table eating a large slice of their aunt's chocolate cake. His brother had a large bump and was a little pale, but was otherwise none the worse for wear.

"Well, you're obviously feeling better," Frank remarked dryly, as he indicated the cake.

"Yup! Nothing like Aunt Gertrude's chocolate cake to make you feel better," Joe retorted cheerfully, shooting a sly glance at his aunt.

"Don't you try and butter me up, Joe Hardy!" sniffed his aunt. "You still have to eat your dinner before you get any more cake." But despite her peppery manner, the boys could tell that she was pleased.

"Worth a try," Joe shrugged and grinned at Frank.

Frank laughed and sat down beside his brother, all anxiety gone. "Guess he who dares, wins."

"Huh?" said Joe, confused.

"Never mind."

Joe's expression grew serious. "Mom told me what happened yesterday. Do you know if they've identified the body yet?"

Frank shook his head.

"This is really creepy," Joe muttered. "Was it an accident?"

"Not if Con's reaction was anything to go by," Frank replied grimly.

"Why? What'd he say?"

"It's more what he didn't say, but he seemed really spooked."

"Con? Spooked?" Joe was surprised. "The body must have been pretty bad."

"Can we talk about something else, please?" their mother cut in suddenly. "I don't like this train of conversation."

"Sure, Mom," said Frank, catching his brother's eye. Both boys knew they could discuss it later when their mother wasn't listening.

Just then, they heard the front door open and Fenton's voice called, "Laura? Joe?"

"Kitchen," Laura called back.

Fenton Hardy came striding into the kitchen, his eyes landing on his youngest. "Joe, how are you feeling?"

"Fine, Dad," answered Joe, smiling up at his father's anxious face. "Honestly."

Fenton broke into a relieved grin, but both Frank and Joe noticed how tired he looked. "You okay, Dad?" asked Frank.

He nodded just as two men in dark suits moved into the kitchen behind him. One of them coughed politely.

"Oh, sorry," said Fenton, turning to the men. "This is Agent Reston and Agent Mulder of the FBI. They're here as part of Mike's investigation."

"Agent Mulder?" Joe spluttered with laughter. "As in…_The X-Files_? You're kidding, right?"

"No!" snapped the older Agent, with more than a hint of irritation in his voice. Joe could tell at once that he was more than tired of that x-files reference.

"Sorry," he mumbled, attempting and failing miserably to hide his laughter.

His mother shot him a warning look before turning her attention to her husband. "Fenton, did you say these gentlemen are here as part of Mike's investigation?"

Fenton nodded grimly. "The body found in Barmet Bay has been identified. It's Andrew Watson."

"That poor boy!" exclaimed Gertrude.

"Here in Bayport?" Laura cried, looking at her husband. "He's _here_ in Bayport?"

"Laura!" hissed Fenton, with a quick glance at his sons.

Frank and Joe stared at their parents in complete confusion. "Dad, what-?" Frank began, but his father cut him off.

"Boys, I want you to go to the station and give your statements to Con Riley about what happened yesterday. Frank, give Chet and the others a call and ask them to do the same."

"Dad, what about Kenneth Nash?" Frank demanded angrily. "Isn't anything going to be done about him?"

"Action will be taken as soon as everyone has given their official statement," Fenton replied grimly. "William Nash will not be getting his son out of trouble this time, believe me, Frank. But right now I need you to go to the station and give your statement, okay?"

Frank nodded, but his gut told him that something was very wrong. His father's face was strained and tense, and he could see fear on the faces of his mother and aunt. There was more to this than his father was letting on.

**xxx**

Frank called Biff, Chet and Tony to ask them to go to the station and give their statements. There was no answer at Callie's house and Phil was out, but the others promised to go down that evening and do so. Frank could hear the confusion in their voices and wished he was able to give them some answers.

The two FBI Agents had collected some files from their father and left. They mentioned nothing about the case, but Frank could tell by their grim expressions that something big was going on.

Fenton had insisted on driving them to the station, but said very little on the way. His shoulders were hunched and anxious, and his hands gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary. Frank and Joe kept shooting each other alarmed glances; they were beginning to get very unsettled by their father's out of character behaviour.

When they finally arrived at Bayport Police Station, it was a very subdued Hardy family who clambered out of the car and climbed the steps to the main door. At the top of the steps, much to their surprise, they met Callie Shaw exiting the station with her parents.

"Callie," said Frank as he stopped in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

"Chief Collig called me in," she answered, looking upset. "They wanted to ask me about the car that crashed into me."

"Why?" Joe wanted to know.

"Because it was stolen in New York and they found blood in the trunk," she whispered. "They think it may have something to do with the body found in the bay."

"What!" Fenton focused his attention on Callie. "What did you see?"

"I beg your pardon!" snapped Mr. Shaw angrily. "But who are you to presume to question my daughter?"

"My name is Fenton Hardy and I'm investigating this case. Callie, what did you see that night? Did you get a look at the other driver?"

"No."

"You must have seen something!" Fenton insisted. "Think very hard. Did the driver have dark hair? Was he wearing glasses? Anything at all, think!"

"I really didn't see anything, Mr. Hardy," answered Callie uncomfortably.

"But how could you not see anything?" Fenton demanded.

"Dad!" cried Frank, mortified at his father's interrogative tone.

Mr. Shaw glared at Fenton. "As my daughter told the Police when she initially reported the accident, she didn't actually see the other driver. She was too busy trying to stop her car from driving off the road!"

"I'm sorry," said Fenton, abashed. "But the body is that of a teenage boy and we're anxious to establish who killed him."

"And I hope you catch him," replied Mr. Shaw. "But I'm afraid Callie won't be of any assistance in that matter. Good evening to you, Mr. Hardy."

"See you in school," said Frank awkwardly to Callie. She gave him a small smile in return as she followed her parents down the steps and back to their car.

"Dad, why did you have to be like that?" Frank hissed, whirling on his father.

His father ignored him. "Come on, boys. Con is waiting."

"Dad-" Frank began to protest but his father was already entering the station. Shooting a look of frustration towards his brother, Frank darted in after his father. Biting his lip, Joe tagged behind.

The air in the station was subdued and morose. As the boys followed their father to Con Riley's desk, they started to feel more and more uneasy. It didn't help that Con remained serious and professional when taking their statements, with none of the jokes or pleasantries that they usually shared.

When they were finished, Fenton gave Frank the keys of his car. "You boys head home. I'll catch a ride with Mike later."

"Fine!" Frank snapped. "You do that! Lets go, Joe." Ignoring his father's shocked expression, Frank stood up and strode angrily towards the door.

"See you later, Dad," said Joe quietly, getting up and following Frank.

Fenton gave a weak smile as Joe hurried after his brother. He caught up with Frank halfway across the parking lot.

"Frank, you okay?" he asked.

Frank growled in response as he reached the car, unlocked the door and yanked it open.

Joe gaped at his brother's strange behaviour. "Frank, what is the matter with you? Why did you have to talk to Dad like that?"

Frank stared at him across the roof of the car. "Because he's being a jerk! He keeps treating us like we're stupid little kids who don't understand anything…and he didn't have to talk to Callie like that!"

Realisation dawned on Joe. Frank wasn't just angry, he was hurt by their father's behaviour. It was bad enough that Fenton was treating them like he didn't trust them and shutting them out of the case, but he had really humiliated Frank in front of Callie and he didn't even seem to care.

"I don't think Dad meant to be so tough on Callie," said Joe quietly.

"Yeah, right!" Frank snorted angrily, sitting into the car.

"I'm serious," Joe insisted, sitting in as well. "Dad's obsessed with this case. It's almost like it's…personal for him."

"What do you mean personal?" demanded Frank, an edge to his voice.

"I don't know. But can't you see how worried he is?"

"I don't care, Joe! It wouldn't kill him to take two seconds to talk to us!"

"Maybe he's trying to protect us from something," Joe mused.

"What could he possibly need to protect us from?"

Joe started to get angry. "Frank, Andrew Watson was the same age as you! Don't you think that might be bothering Dad?"

"Why should it bother him? I'm not Andrew Watson! It's not like Dad is in the same position as the Watsons."

"He was once."

Frank froze and looked at his brother. "This is completely different!"

"Why? Because I didn't die?" Joe turned away and looked out the window.

Frank was silent for several minutes.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I didn't see it like that."

"It's not me you need to apologise to," Joe replied, looking back at him again. "Frank, Dad's scared because he knows what can happen. He's only trying to protect us…you can't blame him for behaving like a Dad."

"He doesn't have to act like such a jerk," Frank muttered, starting up the car.

"He may not be going about it the right way," Joe conceded, "but you're not exactly being Mr. Sensitivity either."

"Okay. Maybe I could have handled it better," Frank admitted.

"Maybe?"

"Fine. I _could_ have handled it better!" Frank rolled his eyes and started to reverse out of the parking space.

Joe grinned.

"And just when did _you_ get to be so smart?" Frank demanded. "I thought that was my job!"

"Oh, it is. But it's my job to step in when you're acting like an tool."

"Smart ass!" Frank retorted, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Joe just laughed.

**xxx**

The next day at school, speculation continued about the body found in the bay. Most of the students seemed to consider it some sort of sensational gossip, and theorised wildly about what had happened.

Frank, Tony and Biff found themselves the objects of several gruesome questions, much to Frank's disgust. He found the excited attitude of his fellow students somewhat repugnant; didn't anyone care that a teenage boy was dead? He was just glad that no one bothered Joe - who had returned to school that morning - with questions.

There was still no sign of Kenneth Nash, and Frank didn't know whether to be furious or relieved. On the one hand, he wanted to pound the other boy into pulp, but on the other, he was pretty sure that gaining a suspension was the last way to get justice for what he had done to Joe.

To celebrate Joe's return, Tony had suggested that all the gang go to Mr. Pizza's after school. Although Chet, Iola and Callie were unable to attend, Frank, Joe, Biff and Phil all agreed it was a good idea and had arranged to meet after school.

However, as the final bell went, Frank was delayed by his teacher asking to speak with him about an assignment. It was nearly twenty minutes before he could get away and by the time he had thrown his books in his locker, Frank was seriously late for his rendezvous with his friends. As he dashed down the hall, the teenager neglected to look where he was going and collided with another student at the main door, knocking them to the ground.

"I'm sorry-" he began then stopped abruptly as he realised the student on the ground was Callie Shaw.

_Crap! _he groaned inwardly. _Why did it have to be Callie?_

"I'm so sorry, Callie" he apologised, holding out his hand to help her up.

Grasping his hand, she pulled herself up. "It's okay. But what are you doing here, Frank? I thought you were going to Mr. Pizza's with the others."

"I am, but Mr. Hayden kept me after Chemistry to talk about my next assignment."

"Explains why you were in hurry," she remarked dryly.

"Sorry about that," he apologised again.

"It's okay."

Silence fell and the two teenagers stared awkwardly at each another for several minutes. Frank was cringing that he once more looked like an idiot in front of the pretty blond.

"I'd better go," she murmured eventually.

"Callie, wait!"

She looked at him expectantly and he swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Frank, it's okay. It was just an accident."

"No. I mean…I'm sorry about yesterday…about my Dad."

"Oh."

"He shouldn't have attacked you the way he did."

"It's fine, really."

"No, it's not," said Frank uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about the way he acted."

"It's okay," Callie began, then sighed when she saw Frank staring at her intently. "Okay. Maybe he was a little…intense about the whole thing."

"He's not usually like that, I think this case is just bringing back some bad memories."

"Bad memories?"

"It's a long story."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them once more.

_Say something to her! _a voice in Frank's head hissed.

"So…you're not coming to Mr. Pizza's then?" he asked awkwardly.

She shook her head. "I can't. Mom and I are visiting a neighbour of ours. She's in hospital." She looked at her watch. "Speaking of which, I'd better get going or I'll be late."

"I'll walk you out," Frank offered.

She smiled warmly and Frank immediately blushed.

"So, do the Police have any leads about what happened to that poor boy in the Bay?" she asked, as they crossed through the front door into the sunlight.

"I don't know," Frank admitted. "Dad hasn't exactly told us anything about the case."

"Still? But…you were the one who found the body."

Frank shrugged.

Sensing his frustration, Callie gave him a sympathetic smile and placed her hand gently on his arm. "I'm sure your father is only doing what he thinks is best for you."

Frank was just about to respond when a loud voice cut through the air. "Hey, Frank! Hurry up, I'm starving!"

Frank sighed as he looked up to see his brother signalling furiously from where he was standing beside Biff, Tony and Phil. _Excellent timing, bro. _

"About time!" said Joe as Frank and Callie joined them. "What kept you?"

Callie laughed. "I'd better let you guys go. I'll see you tomorrow, Frank."

"Yeah, see you." Smiling after her, Frank waited until she was out of hearing before turning on Joe and smacking his arm. "Your stomach couldn't have waited five minutes?"

"What?" said Joe indignantly. "What did I say?"

As Frank groaned in exasperation, the other boys laughed. No one noticed that the man standing at the bus stop across the street was watching them intently.

**xxx**

After the upheaval of the weekend, the rest of the week passed uneventfully. Fenton was rarely home, but when he was the boys were careful not to mention the case to him. Neither of them missed the dark circles under his eyes or the worried glances his wife kept directing at him. They grew used to the long hours their father was putting in, and became almost oblivious to the FBI Agents who were calling to the house; although Joe was still inclined to laugh whenever he caught sight of Agent Mulder.

Kenneth Nash had not returned to school. Frank suspected that it was because everyone had given their statements and the Police had begun proceedings to charge him with reckless endangerment, despite William Nash's best efforts to contest the charges. The Hardy boy sincerely hope that this was the one time the man would be unable to bail his son out of trouble.

By Friday afternoon however, something happened to make Frank forget all about his father's case and Kenneth Nash. He and Callie were paired together on a science project.

Part of him was thrilled because it meant that they would have an excuse to be alone together, but it also presented the problem of them…alone together. Speech always seemed to desert him when he was alone with Callie, and Frank was afraid of looking like an idiot. He had already done an excellent job of looking foolish in front of Callie on several occasions.

The thought of being alone with Callie preoccupied his mind for the rest of the afternoon and by the end of his last class, Frank had worked himself up into a lather. _What am I supposed to say to her? I can't just talk about science all the time, I'd look like such a nerd!_

Sighing, Frank made his way through the crowded hallway to his locker. He stopped dead when he saw who stood propped against it, smiling at him.

Callie.

Swallowing as his stomach somersaulted, Frank made his way towards her.

"Hey, Frank," she smiled. "Looks like it's you and me, huh?"

"Yeah," said Frank weakly, feeling his face burn under the scrutiny of those eyes. He now seemed to have lost the ability to think as well as speak.

"Do you want to start work on the project this weekend?"

"This…this weekend?" he squeaked, mentally kicking himself for sounding so moronic.

"Unless you have other plans," she said hurriedly.

"No…no other plans. Uh…what about Saturday?"

"Sure-oh wait!" Callie smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. "It's my grandmother's birthday, we're going out of town. Rats, I forgot! What about Sunday afternoon? We should be back by then."

"I have Karate class," he said apologetically. "We could…um, get together afterwards?"

"Okay," she smiled. "What time should I come over?"

"Um, seven?" he squeaked again.

Callie give a little giggle. "Seven it is. I'll see you then, Frank."

"Bye."

Frank stared after her, heart pounding and mouth open.

_Smooth, Hardy, really smooth! Could you have sounded like a bigger dork?_

"What's the matter with you?" he heard a voice demand and looked to his right to see his brother standing there staring at him.

He closed his mouth. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Really? Cause you're drooling like an idiot!"

Frank scowled and wiped his mouth. "I am not! And I thought you had practice?"

"It was cancelled," said Joe cheerfully. "Faculty meeting."

**xxx**

"Same time next week, everyone," Mr. Stevens called as the end of class rolled around. "Remember to warm up beforehand and we can spend more time practising the moves. Frank Hardy, could I have a word, please?"

Frank, who had been stretching after the rigorous class, stopped mid-stretch and stared in surprise at the instructor.

"Just a quick word," his tutor smiled and beckoned him forward. As the class filed out, Frank gathered up his stuff and made his way slowly to the top of the room.

"Um, yes?"

"Frank," Mr. Stevens greeted him. "You did nice work this evening."

"Thank you," said Frank, surprised.

"I've noticed you have a natural aptitude for martial arts. You learn the moves quickly and execute them with a precision I haven't seen in a beginner before. I think it may be time you moved on."

"What?" Frank was confused.

His instructor smiled. "To another class. As long as you remain with me, you'll be forced to learn and graduate at the same level as everyone else. I think it would benefit you to train at a higher level."

"But I don't-"

"Don't worry, I'm not suggesting you go off and find someone. I know of a martial arts expert living here in Bayport. He teaches about five or six students at a time, usually someone who as been recommended to him. If it's okay with you, Frank, I'd like to put your name forward."

Frank was stunned. "Me? But…why?"

His tutor laughed at his expression. "Frank, much as I enjoy having you in my class, you're wasted here. Master Reynard would develop your skills much quicker than I could, and to a level most people in this class will never reach."

"I don't know what to say…thanks!"

"My pleasure," grinned Mr. Stevens. "I'll contact Master Reynard to organise it. "Drop in before class next week and we'll discuss the details. See you then, Frank."

"Okay," said Frank enthusiastically as he watched Mr. Stevens walk out of the room. _Oh man, I don__'__t believe this! Wait till I tell Joe!_

Almost everyone had left by the time Frank exited the town hall. There was only one other vehicle in the parking lot; a black van. But the teenager was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice as he crossed to his car. It was only when something swished behind him as he put the keys in the lock, that Frank snapped to attention.

But it was too late.

Something hard collided with his skull and he reeled away from the object. His world spinning, the teenager swung out with his right hand, instinctively protecting his face with his left. There was a muttered "oomph" and he felt a rush of triumph.

But it was short lived as another blow ricocheted off the side of his temple and stars exploded behind his eyes. Strong arms encased him as he staggered back. Trying to quell his growing panic, Frank used his legs as leverage to propel his attacker backwards. He heard the thump of the man hitting something solid and felt the crushing grip loosen. The teenager used the opportunity to launch himself forward and started to run.

"HELP!" he yelled.

He had only gone a few steps when something smashed into him from behind, sending him sprawling. Quickly he rolled to his back and kicked up at the large shape looming over him. Although he couldn't see clearly through the fog in his throbbing head, he felt his foot collide with something solid and the dark figure staggered back. Frank scrabbled to his feet and shook his head trying to clear it.

The man rushed him again, sending him flying into the black van. Then he was on him, punching the teenager hard in the stomach and face. Frank swung out again, only to have the man smash his arm off the van. The boy heard something crack and felt agony shiver through him. His cries of pain were muffled by a large hand clamping itself over his mouth. Something sharp pricked his arm and Frank felt himself slipping slowly into blackness.

_**A/N:**__ Once again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I really appreciate that you take the time to comment. :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Joe, could you get that please?" Laura Hardy called downstairs as the doorbell rang.

Pulling himself up from where he had been watching TV, Joe trotted to the front door and pulled it open. Callie Shaw stood on the front porch.

"Hi, Joe," she greeted him.

Callie!" he said in surprise. "What time is it?"

"A little after seven. Why?"

"Nothing. Frank's just a little late, that's all. Come on in."

"Thanks."

Callie followed him into the living room. As she sat on the couch, she glanced at the TV then rolled her eyes. "James Bond?"

"What's wrong with James Bond?" Joe demanded.

"He's an outdated old Tom Cat!"

"James Bond?" said Joe incredulously. "Callie, he is one of the coolest heroes of cinema!"

"He's a misogynistic narcissist," Callie snorted.

"I have no idea what that means."

Callie sighed.

"Joe, who was at the-oh! Hello." Laura Hardy smiled as she entered the living room. "You must be Callie."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hardy," said Callie as she stood up.

"Frank not here yet?" said Mrs. Hardy cheerfully. "Never mind. Will you have a cup of tea while you're waiting?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hardy," answered Callie politely.

"But you must have something," Laura insisted just as the phone rang. "I'll get that," she added to Joe who had risen to answer it. "Joe, please get Callie a soda or something."

As Laura left the room, Joe grinned at Callie. "You know, it's better to say yes. Mom will just keep asking until you do."

She laughed. "I'll have a soda then. I'm afraid I don't really like tea."

"Me neither." Joe got up from his chair just in time to hear his mother's panicked voice coming from the hall.

"What! When? Is he alright? Where is he?"

Alarmed, he hurried into the hall to see his mother clutching the hall table tightly. She was white-faced and panic-stricken.

"Mom, what-?" he began, only to be met with shushing gestures from his mother.

"I'll be straight there," she said and hung up the phone.

"Mom, what is it?" he demanded at once.

"Frank's been attacked!" she said, trembling as she stared at Joe. "He's in the hospital."

Joe felt his blood run cold. "Is he alright?"

"I don't know. They…they couldn't tell me."

"We have to get to the hospital now!" Joe cried.

"Frank had the car," his mother told him. "We need to call a Cab."

"I can drive you, Mrs. Hardy," Callie offered quietly, coming into the hall from the living room.

"What? Oh, Callie, that would be such a help! Are you sure you don't mind?"

Callie shook her head. "It's no trouble."

"Thank you, Callie," said Mrs. Hardy. "Just let me get my purse. Joe, leave a note for Gertrude telling her where we've gone."

As Joe rushed to the kitchen to write a note, Laura dashed up the stairs to get her purse. Callie remained rooted to the spot, clench-jawed and frightened.

Within minutes, they were hurrying out the door and into Callie's car. As he buckled up, Joe felt a dreadful chill of foreboding pass through him and immediately tried to shove it away. Frank would be fine.

None of them spoke during the drive to the hospital, afraid of what they might find. As they dashed through the doors of the emergency room, they were met by Fenton and Sam Radley.

"Dad!" Joe exclaimed. "How's Frank?"

"I don't know yet," his father responded grimly. "The doctors haven't been out yet."

"Fenton," Laura whispered. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "It seems Frank was attacked after Karate. The guy was scared away by the janitor who called the police and an ambulance."

"We were at the station when the call came in," Sam added. "We came straight here. Mike and Con Riley have gone over to the Town Hall to look over the area, see if they can find anything."

Silence fell over the little group as they stared towards the doors leading to the examination room, but they remained resolutely shut. Resigned to the fact that it would be some time before they had any information, they settled in to wait. Fenton and Laura sat down while Joe paced nervously back and forth. Callie, however, remained standing in a corner, un-noticed; an intruder on family grief.

"I'll get some coffee," Sam offered quietly, leaving them to it.

Two long hours passed with the Hardys waiting anxiously for news on Frank. Fenton and Laura grew more silent and grim with each passing minute, while Joe became more and more restless.

Finally, he could no longer stand it. "What's taking so long?" he burst out.

"Joe, the doctors will be out as soon as there's news," his father tried to pacify him.

Joe growled in frustration and resumed pacing, while Fenton and Laura exchanged worried looks. What _was _taking so long?

"Mr. and Mrs. Hardy?" a voice called suddenly and they looked around to see a tall doctor with dark hair scanning the waiting area.

"Here!" answered Fenton anxiously, springing to his feet.

The doctor made his way over to them and shook Fenton's hand. "I'm Dr. Whitehall, the neurologist who's been treating your son."

"Neurologist?" Fenton repeated.

The doctor frowned a little as he looked at him. "Frank has suffered a severe concussion and has not yet regained consciousness. Now, the x-rays don't show that there is any skull fracture, but this prolonged unconsciousness is giving us cause for concern; Frank should have woken up by now."

"What does that mean?" demanded Fenton. "When will he wake up?"

"We don't know," answered Dr. Whitehall. "And until Frank wakes up, we have no way of knowing the extent of the damage."

"Oh, God," said Laura miserably and sank into the nearest chair.

"I should also let you know that there was a slight hairline fracture of Frank's left radius. He will have to wear a cast for the next six to eight weeks."

"Is there anything else we should know?" asked Fenton bleakly, placing his hand on his wife's trembling shoulder.

The doctor shook his head. "At the moment, we have no other information. I'm very sorry that I can't give you better news."

"Can we see him?" asked Fenton.

"Yes, but only the immediate family," answered Dr. Whitehall. "Follow me, I'll take you to him."

The doctor headed towards the elevator. Fenton and Laura immediately followed him, but Joe seemed rooted to the spot.

"Joe?" Callie addressed him gently.

He turned to her with a blank expression.

"Joe, are you okay?"

He shook his head and instinctively Callie reached forward and gave him a hug. "Frank will be fine, Joe, you'll see." As he let go and pulled away, she saw Joe looking at her with an expression of surprise.

"Callie-"

"Your parents are waiting," she said softly, indicating towards the elevator where Mr and Mrs Hardy stood looking back at Joe.

Looking more than a little dazed, Joe headed over to his parents. Callie waited until they stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed before she put her hands over her face and sobbed.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder and she jumped. The hand belonged to Sam Radley, whom Callie had forgotten was there.

"Miss, are you okay?" he asked kindly.

Callie nodded and with a shaky hand wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Are you a friend of Frank and Joe's?"

"I'm in Frank's class," she whispered. "My name is Callie Shaw."

"I'm Sam Radley. I work with Fenton."

Callie nodded and her eyes strayed back to the elevator.

"Callie, it's quite late, your parents will be getting worried. Maybe you should go home?" suggested Sam.

She sniffed, then nodded. "Okay."

"Do you need a ride?"

She shook her head. "My car is in the parking lot."

"Will you be okay to drive?" asked Sam, frowning at her tear-filled eyes.

"I'll be fine. Mr. Radley?"

"Call me Sam."

"Sam," she repeated. "Would you mind asking Joe to call me tomorrow and let me know how Frank is?"

Her voice was quivering and Sam smiled sympathetically. "Of course. Would you like me to walk you out?"

"No, thank you. Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Callie."

Sam watched the blond girl leave the hospital. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help but smile. Frank Hardy had an admirer.

**xxx**

"He's in here," said Dr. Whitehall, stopping outside a room on the third floor. "I'll be around for the night. If you have any questions, just ask the nurse to page me."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Fenton, pushing the door open and entering the room. Laura and Joe followed quickly behind him.

Joe felt as though he had been socked in the stomach when he saw his brother. Frank's right eye was swollen and bruised, and his face bore multiple signs of the attack. A large cast covered his left arm, and a heart monitor beeped steadily beside the bed.

"Oh, Frank!" gasped his mother, dropping into the chair by his bed and taking his hand in hers. Frank didn't move.

Fenton walked over to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder, staring down in shock at the figure of his eldest son.

Joe remained where he was by the door, unable to move. It was eerie to see Frank lying so still. Frank was his rock, his big brother; he wasn't supposed to get sick.

To his horror, Joe felt tears rising and hastily blinked them back.

_Stop crying you girl! _he reprimanded himself.

A knock on the door made them all jump and they looked around to see Mike Wilson poking his head into the room.

"How's Frank?" he enquired gently.

Fenton shook his head. "We don't really know yet. Did you find anything?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah. But…could we talk outside?"

Fenton looked slightly alarmed, but nodded and moved towards the door. His wife stood up to follow and he turned towards her. "Laura, maybe you should stay here?"

"I don't think so!" she retorted. "I want to hear what Mike has to say."

Fenton opened his mouth to argue, but one look at his wife's face and he thought better of it.

"Joe," his father addressed him. "You stay here with Frank."

The blond boy fumed silently as the adults left the room and closed the door behind them. He did not appreciate being kept in the dark when it concerned his brother. Joe looked back at Frank; the still figure sent a frisson of apprehension and fear up his spine.

_Screw this!_

Refusing to be left out any longer, he crept over to the door. Pushing it open just a crack, he was able to get snatches of the conversation going on outside.

"Syringe found at the scene…Temazepam…The FBI think…Frank…"

"He's targeting Frank?" Laura Hardy yelled suddenly followed by hissing noises from her husband. "Don't you _dare _tell me to shush Fenton Hardy! You drop news like that on me and you expect me to be _quiet_?!"

"Laura," Fenton pleaded. "Keep it down! What if Joe hears you?"

Their voices dropped to a murmur once more, and try as he might Joe could hear no more. Then he heard Mike bidding his parents good bye and dived into the chair beside Frank's bed.

His parents returned to the room looking visibly upset. His mother in particular was pale and shaking.

"What did Mike say?" Joe asked at once.

"Not much," replied his father and Joe scowled at the obvious lie.

"Yeah, right! Dad, what is going on? What happened to Frank?"

"We don't know yet."

"Are you telling me that Mike found nothing at the scene?"

Fenton shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

"So, he just called you out in to the hall to talk about nothing?"

"That's right."

"That's crap!"

"Joe!" said his mother, shocked.

But Joe ignored her. "Mike found a syringe found at the scene, didn't he? And why did the FBI get involved, huh? This has something to do with your case, doesn't it?"

"You were listening?" said Fenton sharply.

"Yeah, so I know you're lying!"

Fenton's face grew stern. "Joe Hardy, you listen here, I am telling you unequivocally to butt out! This case is none of your business, got that?"

"It is my business if Frank is involved!"

"JOE, STAY OUT OF THIS!" Fenton shouted.

"Shhhhh!" snapped Laura with an angry look at both of them.

Fenton lowered his voice. "Joe, I mean it. This case has nothing to do with you or Frank, got that? And if I find out that you've been getting involved, then there will be hell to pay! Understood?"

"Yes, _sir!_" said Joe sarcastically.

Muttering darkly, he slunk down in his chair and stared at his brother's unconscious form. This was no longer just a case his father was working on; someone had attacked Frank.

This was personal.

Joe didn't care what his father said, he wasn't going to let sleeping dogs lie.

**xxx**

It was after eleven when Mike returned to the hospital to drive Laura and Joe home. Fenton remained at the hospital with Frank.

Joe and his father had said very little to one another after their argument. The boy didn't like fighting with his father, but he was so angry about being kept in the dark that he couldn't help it.

When they got home, Joe went straight to bed. Partly because he didn't want to discuss the argument with his mother, but also because the bones of a plan had begin to form in his mind. Joe was planning on breaking into his father's filing cabinet as soon as his mother was asleep. He was tired of all this secrecy and now that it concerned his brother, he was determined to find out what was going on.

It was after one by the time Laura Hardy went to bed, and by that time the boy was sizzling with impatience and frustration. There was no danger of him falling asleep - he was too worried about Frank - but he was anxious to get started.

He waited for nearly half an hour before sneaking downstairs. Well aware that his mother may also have been too worried to sleep, but too impatient to wait any longer, Joe bundled up some clothes beneath the bedcovers to make it look like he was asleep.

Using his flashlight, Joe was careful not to make a sound as he crept downstairs. Once in his father's study, he closed the door and listened carefully for any noise from upstairs. The house was silent and, pleased with himself, the blond teenager set to work. However, he hadn't got very far when he heard the front door open and his father's voice sounded in the hall.

Joe froze in horror. He hadn't expected his father to come home. He had assumed he would be staying with Frank.

He clicked off his flashlight and waited with baited breath. Another voice spoke, one that sounded like Mike, and he realised they were coming towards the study. His heart beating wildly, Joe hurried over to the large easy chair in the corner and crawled in behind it. He would be in serious trouble if his father caught him snooping in here. Curling into a small ball, Joe hoped he would remain hidden behind the chair.

The light clicked on and he heard the two men enter the room. They seemed to be having some sort of whispered argument.

"Fenton, look at you!" Mike was saying furiously. "You're exhausted! What good would you be if he showed up at the hospital tonight? Con Riley will make sure that Frank stays safe, you know that."

"Mike, he is targeting my son! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

"But by knowing he's a target, we can protect Frank."

"Protect him? _Protect_ him? This bastard has been killing other people's children for the last fifteen years! How the hell am I supposed to protect mine?"

"Shhh!" Mike hissed. "Do you want to wake the whole house?"

Joe heard angry muttering from his father.

"Fenton, look, I know you're worried but we've never had warning before, we've never been able to predict who this guy will take! We can keep Frank safe until he's caught."

"If we ever catch him."

Joe heard the sound of a squeak as his father sat into the swivel chair behind his desk.

"Fenton, we'll catch him. He can't escape us forever."

"He's eluded us for the past fifteen years so far."

"Which means his luck has to run out sooner or later! Fenton, you're doing exactly what you did the last time, you're obsessing about this guy to the point of burn out. You left NYPD to get away from him!"

Behind the chair, Joe's eyes widened in shock.

"Mike, I looked in the Gallagher's eyes and promised to bring their son home safe, but I couldn't even get his body back for them to bury. How many people have lost sons because of this man?"

"I know, Fenton. I was there too, remember?" Mike's voice sounded weary.

There was a long silence, during which Joe didn't even dare breathe in case the men discovered him. When his father spoke again, he no longer sounded angry but exhausted.

"I just want to know how Frank became a target."

"You know, that's a good question. Maybe we should start from there?" said Mike thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Why _did_ Frank become a target? Where did he see him? The boys were only in New York for a few hours, and if he saw Frank here in Bayport…"

"But he must know Frank is my son. Why would he take that risk?"

"I don't know. Maybe he _doesn't_ know Frank is your son, but it gives us somewhere to start."

"You mean we can map Frank's movements since Andrew Watson went missing?" Fenton supplied.

"It might give us some clue as to how he selected Frank, maybe we can get a lead on his hunting grounds."

Joe winced at those words. It made Frank sound like prey.

"God! I just want to GET this guy!" snapped Fenton, the frustration in his voice evident.

"I know, Fenton, I know. Look, get some rest. Tomorrow we can get started on mapping Frank's movements. Joe might be able to help us with that-"

"NO! I don't want the boys involved in this case."

"We don't have to tell him what it's about-"

"Joe's not stupid, he'll know. He already heard some of what we said at the hospital this evening and it wouldn't be hard for him to put two and two together. I don't want them involved."

"They're already involved," said Mike quietly. "Fenton, I agreed with you last weekend that they shouldn't be involved in this, but I didn't think one of them would become a target! I think you need to tell them."

"I don't need to tell them anything! All I need to do is protect them."

"This is not the way to do it."

"They're _my_ kids, Mike!" snapped Fenton, a dangerous edge to his voice.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the little study; Joe could feel the tension from his hiding position behind the chair.

Finally, Mike spoke again. "Fenton, it's late and you need some rest. I'd better go."

"Fine. I'll call you tomorrow."

Joe heard the two men getting up and the sound of footsteps leaving the study. He remained where he was to give his father a chance to see Mike out and go to bed.

His heart was hammering wildly at what he had just heard. It would appear that there was a serial killer in Bayport.

And Frank was next on his list.

_**A/N: **__Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'm really glad you all seem to be enjoying the story. :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It seemed that he had only just fallen asleep when the alarm went off the next morning. Groaning, Joe smacked the clock so hard that he sent it flying off the nightstand, forcing him to get up and, muttering darkly, retrieve it.

Anxious to see Frank, he took a hasty shower and dressed quickly before hurrying downstairs. His mother and aunt were sitting at the table when he entered the kitchen.

"Morning, honey," said Laura, then frowned. "You look terrible. Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Not much," Joe mumbled.

After his father had gone to bed the night before, Joe had crawled from his hiding place behind the chair and crept upstairs, but he hadn't been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see his brother lying pale and bruised in a hospital bed.

Gertrude gave him a sympathetic glance. "Would you like some breakfast, Joe?"

He shook his head. "I'm not hungry. I'll just have some juice."

"Joe, you have to eat," scolded his aunt. "You need to keep your strength up!"

"I'll eat later."

She opened her mouth to argue but closed it quickly when Laura shook her head.

"Where's Dad?" asked Joe, to change the subject.

"He's gone to collect my car from the Town Hall," answered Laura.

"Oh." Joe looked at the table.

"We're going to the hospital when Fenton gets back," his mother said gently. "Do you want to come?"

Joe nodded, feeling lost.

Laura gave his arm a sympathetic pat, then stood up and took her plates to the sink. Gertrude followed suit just as they heard the front door open. Minutes later, Fenton entered the kitchen. Joe noticed at once how pale and haggard he looked.

"Morning, Joe," his father greeted him.

"Hi, Dad."

Fenton turned to his wife. "Are you ready to go?" he asked gently.

"Almost. Just give me five minutes to clear up."

"Nonsense, Laura!" Gertrude put in at once. "I can clear up here and follow you to the hospital."

Laura tried to protest but Gertrude was having none of it. "Go!" she insisted. "I'll see you there later."

With a grateful smile at his sister, Fenton ushered his wife and son out the door.

The drive to the hospital was quiet as a certain awkwardness hung in the air; Joe and Fenton had not completely resolved their issues from the argument the evening before, and Laura was too worried about Frank to make strained small talk.

Upon arrival at the hospital, Fenton parked the car and the subdued group made their way up to the third floor. As Joe followed his parents into Frank's room, he couldn't help but notice the officer sitting outside the room

It did nothing to alleviate his fears.

The doctor attending to Frank looked up as they entered. "Good morning," he greeted them. "You must be the Hardys. I'm Dr. Cox."

"How's Frank?" asked Laura.

"The same I'm afraid. But as you suspected, Mr. Hardy, his blood tests were positive for temazepam and we've given him a strong doze of flumazenil to counteract that. We expect to have some better news this evening."

"You do?" said Laura hopefully and the doctor nodded.

"Yes. I suspect that the temazepam is responsible for keeping him out. The dose was quite a strong one, ninety milligrams, and Coma is often a side affect of overdose."

"What's temazepam?" asked Joe.

"A sedative," the doctor answered. "An extremely powerful one, rarely prescribed and even then only in minute quantities. I should also warn you that Frank will most likely suffer some side-effects when he wakes up."

"What kind of side-effects?" asked Laura at once.

"Auditory hallucinations are quite common, as are visual. Frank will also probably suffer from periods of somnolence for a few days but it really is very difficult to say until he wakes up."

"But you have no idea when that will be?" asked Fenton bitterly.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry, but the concussion was rather severe, and the temazepam has only compounded the problem. Its interference with Frank's physical reactions has hampered our assessment. He could wake up today, tomorrow, next week or next year. But we may be able to give a more accurate diagnosis this evening after we have given the flumazenil more time to work."

"Thank you, Doctor," Fenton whispered as Laura sank into the chair beside Frank's bed.

"I'll be around if you need me," the doctor told them softly and left the room.

Joe was standing frozen at the foot of Frank's bed. Horrible, uncontrollable panic was washing over him and the boy thought he might be sick. _What if Frank stays like this for a year? What if he NEVER wakes up?_

The thought was impossible to bear.

"Dad, I need the bathroom," he said bleakly. "Where is it?"

"There's one just down the hall from the nurses' station." Joe turned to go but his father's voice stopped him. "Don't leave the hospital, Joe. In fact, don't even leave this corridor."

Joe appraised his father's grim face and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Fenton tried to give his youngest son a reassuring smile but it came out as more of a pained grimace. Swallowing hard, Joe turned and left the room.

Blindly, he made his way to the bathroom. It was empty and the boy threw himself into one of the stalls before locking the door and sitting down. An image of Frank's motionless figure danced before his eyes, taunting him. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought that Frank might never wake up. What would he do without his brother?

Hot, burning tears rose to his eyes and Joe brushed them away angrily. _What is the matter with you, you sissy? _

But at that moment, Joe felt more like a lost child than a teenage boy, and try as he might, he couldn't fight the wave of misery that was threatening to explode inside him. Despite his best efforts, several scalding tears rushed down his cheeks and he brushed them away with a trembling hand.

It was several minutes before he was able to compose himself enough to return to Frank's room. His parents made no comment about his pale face or red eyes, but his father gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze when he joined them by Frank's bed.

**xxx**

Later that evening, Sam Radley arrived. "How's Frank?" he asked quietly.

"The same," said Fenton, a disconsolate expression on his face. The detective was sitting by his son's bed watching him sleep. On the other side sat Laura with Gertrude beside her, patting her hand comfortingly.

Joe stood at the back of the room against the wall, shuffling nervously as his eyes darted around the room always coming back to land on the immobile figure in the bed.

Sam noticed at once that his anxious movements were like that of a caged, frightened animal. "Hey, Joe," he addressed the teenager. "I'm going to the canteen to get a quick bite to eat. Will you keep me company?"

"It might be a good idea, honey," his mother prompted. "You haven't eaten much at all today."

"Okay," said Joe unenthusiastically. He still wasn't particularly hungry, but he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to stay there in that room either. The morgue-like silence, the grim expressions of his family and the lifeless figure of his brother were combining to drive him crazy. Joe felt like he was quite literally going out of his mind.

He and Sam walked in silence to the Canteen, where Sam ordered them each a large sandwich. Joe didn't eat much of his, merely picked at it while Sam wolfed his down.

"So, kiddo, how are you holding up?" the detective asked as he finished his sandwich.

Joe shrugged, his miserable expression telling Sam everything he needed to know. "Joe, Frank will be fine, you'll see."

"What if he isn't?"

The question threw Sam off guard. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"The doctor said that he might not wake up for another year. Sam, what if…what if he never wakes up?"

"That's an extreme scenario, a one in a million chance."

"What if Frank is that one in a million?" Joe asked fearfully.

"He won't be," said Sam firmly. "Frank is a Hardy, and you guys are nothing if not stubborn." In a gentler tone he added, "Joe, I've seen your Dad in some tight situations and he always manages to make it out. I've even seen you beat the odds when you were just a little kid. And that's how I know Frank will be fine, Joe, because Hardys are made of hardy stuff!"

Joe smiled weakly at the bad pun. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime," said Sam and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Are you ready to head back?"

Joe nodded. "But I guess I'd better ring Chet first. The guys will all be wondering how Frank is."

"Actually, Joe, could you give Callie a ring too?" asked Sam, remembering his promise to the girl the night before. "I think she'd really like to know how Frank is doing, and I promised her last night that I'd get someone to call her."

"But I don't even know her number," said Joe, a little surprised at the request.

"Maybe Iola would know?" Sam suggested.

"Okay, good idea."

They made their way back to the third floor, and Joe stopped by a payphone to call Iola and Callie. Sam headed back to the room to give him some privacy.

He dialled the Mortens' house and was pleased when Iola's clear voice answered the phone.

"Hi, Iola. It's Joe."

"Joe!" she gasped. "How's Frank? We've been calling your house but there's no answer!"

"We're all at the hospital," he told her. "Frank…Frank is still unconscious."

"Oh, Joe! I'm so sorry. What do the Doctors say?"

"They're not really sure. He could wake up at any time, but he…he might not wake up at all."

Iola was silent for a moment before responding.

"Joe, I know I'm not a doctor, but I'm sure Frank will be fine."

"How?"

"Well," said Iola, "for one thing, Frank is too stubborn and too smart to spend the rest of his life sleeping. Come on, Joe, this is the guy who gets up at eight on a Saturday morning because he thinks lying in is a waste of time! I mean, who does that? Really?"

"Frank does," said Joe with a watery grin.

"Exactly! And Frank is also a lot tougher than any of the doctors realise. He is a Hardy after all."

"Sam said the same thing."

"Well, if two smart people are telling you that then maybe you should listen?"

Joe couldn't help but grin at her irrepressible optimism. "I suppose," he conceded, feeling some of the horrible knots in his stomach loosen. "Iola, I couldn't ask you to call the rest of the guys and let them know how Frank is?"

"Of course. Joe, you know you only have to ask if you need anything."

"Thanks, Iola."

"You're welcome," she replied softly."

Then Joe remembered Callie. "Iola, do you have Callie's number?"

"I've got it written down somewhere upstairs. Why?"

"Sam asked me to call her and let her know about Frank. I don't know why ,but he promised her last night that he would get me to call her."

Down the other end of the phone, Iola smiled. At least Sam wasn't as clueless as the two Hardy brothers appeared to be. "No problem, Joe. Just hang on a second and I'll get the number."

There was rustling on the other end as she put down the phone and hurried off to fetch Callie's number.

While she was gone, Joe became aware that someone was standing behind him waiting to use the phone, and they were standing a little too close.

"I'll just be another five minutes," he told the man who was idling behind him. "I have one more phone call to make."

"Take your time, son," the man replied. "I'm in no hurry."

Frowning, Joe turned away again. He had hoped the man would take the hint and back up a little to give him some privacy.

"Joe?" Iola was back on the line. "Callie's number is 555-8723."

"Thanks, Iola. I'll call you if there's any change."

"Okay, Joe. You take care," she told him softly.

"I will. Bye."

Joe hung up and dialled Callie's number. Mr. Shaw answered and Joe asked for Callie.

"May I say who's calling?" enquired Mr. Shaw politely.

"Joe Hardy."

"Just a minute, please."

Callie was on the line in seconds. "Joe? How's Frank?"

"He's still unconscious."

"What do they doctors say?"

"Not much," he admitted. "They aren't sure of the damage until he wakes up."

"But when will that be?" Callie persisted.

"They don't know," his voice quivered a little. "It could be today, tomorrow, next week or…next year."

There was silence for several minutes.

"I'm so sorry, Joe," she whispered finally.

Joe swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Callie, thanks for driving us to the hospital yesterday."

"It was no problem, really."

"Yeah, well, still…thanks."

"How are you?" she asked gently.

"Been better," he mumbled. "Look, Callie, I don't mean to rush but I'd better go."

Joe was vividly aware of the man behind him pressing in uncomfortably close, trying to hurry him on.

"Okay, Joe. Please call me if there's any change?"

"I will," he promised and hung up the phone. "It's all yours," he muttered to the man.

The man just stared at him and stepped past him to the phone. Joe headed back for Frank's room, disgusted at how rude some people could be.

**xxx**

Only Joe and his mother returned home that night. Fenton was staying with Frank.

No one had told Joe why, but he knew that his parents were concerned about leaving Frank alone. Con Riley had stayed with him the night before, and there had been an officer on Frank's door when they had arrived at the hospital that morning.

Joe wasn't stupid. Despite his parents refusing to tell him anything, he knew they were worried that whoever had attacked Frank would return. It made the teenager most reluctant to leave his brother while he was so vulnerable. He had begged to be allowed to stay with Frank, but his parents had insisted he go home and get some rest.

But Joe got little sleep.

As he stared at the luminous clock face on his nightstand, he couldn't stop the disturbing images that flashed through his mind; Frank being attacked by some unknown assailant. Frank, battered and bruised, lying in a hospital bed. Frank lying in a coffin, dead.

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

The words echoed in his head and the blonde boy pulled a pillow over his face and screamed into it. _Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! _

Joe hated his overactive imagination. Shutting off his thoughts was something he always had trouble with when he was worried or scared, and talking with Frank was usually the only thing that would quiet his mind. Frank was a sage listener who could answer hard questions, present logical solutions and generally just make Joe feel better when he felt bad.

But Frank wasn't here, that was the problem.

Growling to himself with frustration, Joe shifted restlessly in his bed until he was staring at the ceiling. He wished he had some answers to his questions about this case. He wished he knew the identity of Frank's attacker so he could pound the hell out of him! But most of all, Joe wished his brother was okay.

Around dawn, Joe finally drifted off into a restless doze. The shrill ringing of his alarm woke him just a few hours later, and he shot up in bed feeling disoriented and exhausted.

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Joe reached over and switched off the alarm before dragging himself out of bed. He stumbled into the bathroom he shared with Frank and washed quickly, trying not to think about the fact that his brother wasn't in the next room. Still groggy as he shuffled downstairs, he was surprised to discover his mother at the foot of the stairs putting on her coat.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She turned around to face him. "Oh, honey! I thought you were still asleep, I heard you twisting for most of the night."

Joe shrugged in reply. "Where are you going?" he repeated.

"The hospital. I thought you would sleep for a little longer. Gertrude was going to wait until you got up and take you to the hospital then."

"No. I'll go with you now," he told her.

"What about breakfast? I can wait while you eat something."

"No thanks, Mom. I'm not really that hungry."

"Joe, you have to eat."

"I can eat at the hospital."

"You didn't eat much at the hospital yesterday," she remarked, looking at him in concern.

"Mom, I'm fine! I'm just not hungry, alright?"

She sighed. "Alright. I'll just let your aunt know that you're coming with me now."

"I'll wait in the car," he muttered, slouching out the door.

Joe felt slightly guilty as he sat into the car. He hadn't meant to lash out at his mother; he had just felt so tired and all he wanted was for Frank to be okay.

When his mother joined him in the car minutes later, Joe apologised at once. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay, honey," she said softly, as she started the car and pulled out of the drive. "I know you're worried about Frank."

Joe bit his lip. "Mom, what if he doesn't wake up?"

"He will honey, you'll see."

Joe scowled out the window. _Every one keeps telling me Frank will wake up_…_so why hasn't he woken up yet?_

Laura didn't speak much to her youngest son on the way to the hospital. All her questions were met with monosyllabic answers, and if she were honest with herself, she didn't really feel much like talking either. Despite her reassurances to Joe, Laura was terrified that Frank would not recover and this fear was creating cracks in her seemingly calm composure. Laura was starting to feel like she was falling apart.

When they arrived at the hospital, something occurred to Joe as they walked down the hospital corridor to Frank's room; his mother was not insisting that he go to school. This was the second day he would have missed, and neither one of his parents had even brought it up. As his mother pushed open the door to Frank's room, Joe wondered if he should be bothered by that fact.

Inside, Fenton greeted them with a tired smile. "Morning," he greeted them, kissing his wife's cheek.

"Any change?" she asked hopefully and he shook his head.

Her face fell. She had been so hoping for some good news. Without saying anything, she brushed a lock of hair from her unconscious son's forehead, but Fenton was quick to notice how her hand trembled.

"Honey," he said softly. "I'm just going for a coffee. Why don't you come with me?"

Laura didn't answer, merely nodded, and her husband could tell at once that she was on the verge of tears. Anxious that Joe wouldn't see this, he gave him a quick hug.

"Joe, your mother and I are just going for a quick coffee. Why don't you wait here with Frank?"

Joe nodded.

"Don't leave the corridor," his father warned. "We'll be back in ten minutes."

Again, Joe nodded and watched his parents leave the room. Just before the door swung closed, he saw his father put his arm around his mother while she buried her face in his shoulder.

_They're afraid he won't wake up either! _

Joe was horrified by this realisation. His parents had spent the last few days reassuring him that Frank would be fine, when really they were every bit as scared as he was.

Fear overwhelmed him and the teenager sank into the chair beside his brother's bed.

"Frank?"

There was no response and Joe swallowed miserably. He could feel those stupid tears start to sneak up on him again and angrily he swiped them away.

"Come on, Frank, please wake up! I'll do anything! I'll do your chores for a month, I'll take out the garbage every evening…I'll even pay you back all those loans I owe you! Just…please wake up."

His brother never moved and Joe stared at him for several long minutes.

"You're being a jerk!" he accused, finally getting angry. "You're sleeping your head off while we're all here worried about you! Well, fine! Be like that, I won't bother doing your chores!"

The only sound was the beep of the heart monitor.

"Frank, come on!" Joe pleaded, his demeanour changing once more. "I miss you," he added in a whisper.

Silence.

Joe felt his anger flare again. "WAKE UP!" he yelled, slapping the arm of the chair.

But the horrible silence continued and Joe buried his head in his hands. He wasn't really mad at Frank, he just wanted his brother back.

"Please wake up," he whispered miserably.

Frank Hardy never moved.

_**A/N:**__ Thanks (yet agin! I'm like some Hollywood floozie giving an Oscar speech thanking everyone and God, aren't I? :D ) to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Over the next few days, there was no change in Frank's condition. The Hardy family slipped into a routine of arriving at the hospital early in the morning and not leaving until very late at night.

On Friday morning however, the Hardys arrived at the hospital to find chaos outside Frank's room. Sam Radley was standing in the hall while a doctor and several nurses pushed past him into the room.

"Frank!" Joe cried at once and moved to dash into his brother's room.

Sam threw an arm across his chest and held him back. "Joe, stop! It's okay, he's awake! Frank's awake!"

"What?"

"He's awake," said Sam gently. "But he wasn't able to talk so the doctors are just examining him now."

"What do you mean he wasn't able to talk?" demanded Fenton, while Joe stared wild-eyed towards Frank's room.

Sam sighed. "He opened his eyes and it looked like he recognised me, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. He got a little panicked then, so I called for help and the doctor cleared me out here."

"He couldn't speak?" Fenton repeated.

"It's probably just a side effect of the temazepam," Sam was quick to reassure him. "The doctors did warn you there could be some, right?"

The three Hardys turned to stare at the door of Frank's room. Joe could feel his heart hammering painfully against his ribs and swallowed in an effort to ease it. Would Frank be okay?

They remained outside the closed door for nearly twenty minutes before it finally opened and several nurses emerged. Trailing behind them was Dr. Whitehall and another doctor. Dr. Whitehall stopped in front of the Hardys while the other doctor followed the nurses back up the corridor.

"How's Frank?" asked Laura. "Will he be okay? Sam said he couldn't speak!"

Dr. Whitehall held up his hand. "Frank will be fine. He does seem to be a little disoriented and there appears to be some speech coordination problems; he can speak, he's just having a little trouble getting his words together. But all other physical reactions and motor-coordination seem absolutely fine, so I imagine this speech impediment is only temporary. We will run another CAT scan, just to be sure and I'd like to keep Frank in for several more days for observation. But all in all, I think the young man will be fine."

The Hardys heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"Can we see him?" Joe asked, looking longingly at the closed door.

"You can go in," the doctor smiled. "But he's a little confused and very groggy, so try not to over-excite him, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Doctor," Laura whispered gratefully.

As he smiled at them and started down the hall, the three Hardys rushed into Frank's room. The dark-haired teenager looked up as they entered and his face split in a wide smile.

"Oh, Frank!" his mother exclaimed, rushing over to the bed and hugging him gently. "I was so worried! Thank heavens you're okay!"

"Frank, how are you feeling?" asked Fenton anxiously, when Laura stepped back to survey her injured son.

"Ti…red," Frank admitted slowly. It was obvious he had trouble getting the words out. "What…happened?"

Fenton frowned. "You don't remember?"

"No."

"Someone attacked you after Karate," Fenton explained gently.

"Who?" Frank asked hoarsely.

"We were kind of hoping that you might be able to tell us something," Fenton admitted. "What's the last thing that you remember?"

"Driving to…class."

"Nothing after that?"

Frank shook his head and Fenton sighed. With no DNA, fingerprints or clues to the identity of the murderer, the detective had hoped his son would be able to give them a description of his attacker…but it seemed that their last chance at a lead had just disappeared.

As his father seemed to disappear into a reflective fug, Frank turned to study his brother. Joe was staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. He gave the younger boy a lopsided grin. "Hey…bro."

Joe's response was to fling himself on his brother and hug him tightly.

"Easy, Joe," said Fenton as Frank's face took on a pained grimace.

Joe let go of Frank and straightened up. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just really glad that you're okay."

Frank nodded, then winced. His head was throbbing and his eyes felt so heavy. They started to close and he forced them open.

"Honey, if you need to sleep then go ahead and sleep," his mother told him gently. "We'll be right here when you wake up."

Frank gave her a drowsy smile as his eyelids fluttered and he drifted off to sleep again.

**xxx**

It was Monday before Frank was allowed home from the hospital, with strict instructions to rest. His speech had returned to normal and the only other side-effect of the drug was somnolence; something the doctors assured them would pass within a few days.

Joe had returned to school that morning, under the escort of Sam Radley who had warned him not to leave the school grounds and to wait for him by the doors after school…much to the boy's irritation. Sam also dropped him home again after school. Hurrying through the front door, Joe said a quick hello to his mother and aunt before dashing upstairs to see his brother.

Frank was lying on his bed reading a book but looked up as Joe entered his room.

"Hey, how was school?"

"Fine. What about you? Did the doctors say it was okay to come home? How are you feeling? Do you still have a headache?"

Frank laughed. "No, but if you keep up the rapid fire interrogation it might come back!"

"Sorry," said Joe sheepishly as he closed the door. Sitting into the chair by Frank's desk, he surveyed his brother.

Frank was pale but cheerful. The bruises on his face had already started to fade to a dull yellow, and the swelling around his eye had gone down. But it was to the large cast on Frank's left arm that Joe's eyes were drawn; he couldn't believe someone had hurt his brother like this.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Stop that."

"What?"

"Stop looking at me like I'm going to break or something, you're freaking me out!"

"Sorry," Joe apologised again. "It's just…this last week really sucked, Frank."

"I know." Frank studied his brother. "Joe, what's really going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Dad. I asked him about the attack but he wouldn't tell me anything."

Joe frowned. He had planned on telling Frank everything he had overheard between Mike and his father the week before, but not until he was fully back on his feet.

"Joe?"

"I did sorta overhear Mike and Dad mention something," he admitted.

"What did you hear?"

"You can't tell Dad you know this," Joe warned. "He doesn't know I was listening."

"Exactly where were you when this conversation was taking place?" Frank frowned suspiciously.

Joe blushed guiltily. "Behind the chair in Dad's study."

"What?! Joe!"

"I couldn't help it!" Joe defended himself. "Dad came home earlier than I expected!"

Frank sighed. "You'd better start at the beginning."

Joe told Frank everything that had happened the night of his attack, beginning with what had transpired in the hospital and the snippets of conversation he had overheard between their parents and Mike. He finished by telling Frank how he had come to be in his father's study and what he had overheard when the men had returned. Frank remained silent throughout the whole story and when Joe finished, he stared thoughtfully out the window.

"So Andrew Watson's death wasn't just a one off," he mused. "It's happened before. This might be a good thing, Joe."

"Excuse me? Are we discussing the same case here? How can this be a good thing?! Frank, some nutcase serial killer is out to get you! Aren't you scared?"

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not scared."

"How can you not be scared?" Joe demanded.

"Because he's tried once and failed," said Frank simply. "Dad's not going to give him the chance to try again and I don't think he'd be stupid enough to try."

"He could be stupid enough," Joe muttered.

"I don't think he is. How else do you think he's avoided capture for all these years?"

Joe grimaced. "That's not exactly a reassuring thought, Frank."

Frank shrugged.

"So tell me, why is this a good thing?" asked Joe.

"Because it makes it easier to find out about the case."

"How?"

"Use your head, Joe. If it's happened before then that means there'll be media reports and police reports. We should be able to find out something about the old cases through sources like that."

"And how exactly will we know where to look? The only name Dad mentioned was Gallagher."

"We can use Andrew Watson's death to see what cases are similar," Frank replied.

"But all we know is that Andrew was missing for five weeks and his body turned up in Barmet Bay!"

Frank frowned. "You mean there haven't been any news reports on it?"

"Not one. The police are keeping it very quiet."

"That's weird, I wonder why?"

Just then a knock sounded on Frank's bedroom door. "Frank?" their mother's voice called. "You have a visitor."

Frank pulled open the door expecting to see one of the guys, but was shocked when his mother stood aside to reveal Callie Shaw holding a bouquet of flowers.

"I'll just leave you guys to it," said Laura with a knowing smile as she disappeared back downstairs leaving Frank staring dumbly at Callie.

"Hi, Frank," she greeted him softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he mumbled, blushing as she smiled at him.

From inside the room, Joe rolled his eyes.

"These are for you," she said, handing him the flowers.

"Th…thanks," he stuttered.

"You're welcome."

"Um…come on in."

"Thanks," Callie smiled. "Hi, Joe," she added as she entered the room.

"Hey," Joe greeted her.

"Have a seat, Callie," Frank told her, using his good arm to turf Joe out of the chair he had been lounging in. The younger boy glared at him indignantly.

She hid a smile. "Thanks, Frank."

"So…how are you?" he managed to get out while his mind screamed at him, _Callie Shaw is in my room! Callie Shaw is IN my room! _

"I'm good," she answered, sitting in the chair Frank had just forced Joe to vacate. "Frank, I'm really glad that you're okay."

As they stared awkwardly at one another, it dawned on him that this might be a good time to ask Callie out while there was no danger of any interruptions. But he would have to get rid of Joe first.

"Er, Joe. Would you mind getting us a drink?" Frank asked.

"You just threw me out of a chair!" said Joe. "What do I look like?"

"Callie might be thirsty, Joe," Frank insisted through gritted teeth. "She might like a soda."

"She's your guest!" cried Joe indignantly. "Are you trying to guilt me into being your slave just 'cause you've got a broken arm? Emotional blackmail is my thing, bro!"

"I'm just trying to be polite," said Frank, his eyes bugging as he sent his brother some serious non-verbal signals.

_For crying out loud, Joe, TAKE THE HINT!_

"What? Oh! OH!" Joe's eyes widened. "You know, I've just remembered that I have to go…downstairs. Joe practically ran from the room and Frank groaned inwardly. His brother had been about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

He turned back to face Callie and cursed the fact that his face was on fire.

"So, Callie," he said, then cringed at how squeaky his voice sounded. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Callie, I've been thinking…that is…would you…"

Frank stopped. Why couldn't his mouth get the words out? He opened it again but no sound came out. His mind had gone completely blank.

He closed his mouth. Why wouldn't the damn words just come out?

The teenager started to panic. He had lost the ability to speak. Callie was staring at him expectantly and he had forgotten how to speak. Frank wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

As he stared at Callie with a rabbit-in-the-headlights expression, the pretty blonde took pity on him. "Frank?" she said gently. "Would you like to go out sometime?"

His jaw dropped. "Out? With you?"

"Do you see anyone else in this room?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean…"

"No, you don't see anyone else in the room and yes, you would like to go out with me?" Callie prodded hopefully. She prayed that she wasn't wrong about his feelings for her, but after the fright of Frank's attack, Callie was not letting this opportunity pass her for a second time.

"I'd love to go out with you," said Frank, finding his voice at last.

Callie beamed.

They stared at one another for several minutes as embarrassed but pleased smiles played across their faces. Then Frank realised something.

"Er, Callie?" he said softly. "We're going to have to wait until they catch the guy who attacked me, I'm sort of under house arrest at the moment."

"I don't mind waiting. After all, I waited long enough for you to ask me out!" she gave him a mischievous grin.

"But…you asked me out," said Frank, confused.

"Exactly! A girl could grow old waiting for you to ask her out, Frank Hardy," Callie teased.

Frank laughed sheepishly.

**xxx**

On Wednesday afternoon, Joe arrived home from school to find his brother sitting pale and silent on his bed.

"What's the matter with you?" the younger Hardy demanded. "Did Callie cancel your date?"

Frank shook his head and wordlessly handed Joe some pages.

"What's this?" Joe asked, confused.

"Read," was all Frank said.

Surprised, Joe looked down at the pages in his hand. They were internet printouts of newspaper articles and police reports. One headline in particular caught Joe's eye.

_PARENTS SLAM NYPD FOR KEEPING BOY KILLER SECRET._

_The parents of Elijah Marks spoke out today against the New York City Police Department for not informing the public about the presence of a sexual predator. Alex Marks said, "the NYPD have been remiss in their duties. Not only have they failed to apprehend this killer, but they also neglected to tell the public about it. I understand their need not to cause a panic, but we have a right as parents to protect our children by being aware of the possible danger of a predator." Mr. Marks looking visibly upset added that, "if we had been aware of this killer, then Elijah would still be with us today. We would have taken more precautions, we would have been more careful…we would never have let him go to that party."_

_Elijah Marks (17) disappeared in June of this year on his way to a friend's party. His body was found just two months later off Pier 18. He had been beaten, raped and strangled. Public outrage followed when it emerged that there had been five previous victims and the city demanded answers as to why they weren't informed._

_The parents of Chris Gallagher (15), missing since September of last year and believed to be one of the killer's first victims, declined to comment._

_When asked why NYPD had not released the details of a possible serial killer, Police Commissioner Pat Jordan replied, "we did not see the need to create a public panic."_

Joe stopped reading and looked up at his brother, horrified.

"That article was written nearly fourteen years ago," Frank told him. "I widened my search when you told me Dad said this guy had been killing for fifteen years."

"Mike said he was the reason Dad left NYPD," Joe whispered, feeling sick. This was the same killer who was targeting Frank.

"Dad left NYPD a year later," said Frank quietly. "Elijah Marks seems to have been the last victim until Andrew Watson. I think the fact that they never caught him really got to Dad. You were right when you said this case was personal for Dad…but it wasn't because of us."

"What do you mean?"

"Dad was the one who discovered the first body," Frank answered quietly.

"What?!"

"He wasn't even working at the time," said Frank. "It was his night off."

"How do you know that?" Joe demanded, riffling through the papers in his hand. "It doesn't say that here!"

"I hacked into the NYPD database and found this," said Frank, proffering another sheet of paper towards Joe.

Joe's eyes popped in his head. "You hacked into the…actually, you know what? I don't want to know! Let me see that."

Taking the paper from Frank's outstretched fingers, Joe let several of the sheets he was holding drop to the floor where they wafted over by the open door. But he didn't notice; his eyes were too busy scanning the police report that Frank had given him.

Fenton Hardy had been out for a run when he had come upon the body of sixteen-year-old Riley Harris and had called it in. When NYPD had discovered the whole horrifying truth behind the case, Fenton had requested to be put on it. He worked every single case after that, but they had never came close to discovering the killer's identity.

Joe swallowed as he stared blankly at the page in front of him. This explained their father's weird behaviour over the past few weeks. The boy felt sick at the thought of what their father had been trying to protect them from, and they had snooped anyway.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" a voice roared suddenly.

Joe spun around to see their father framed in the doorway to Frank's room, his hand clutching the newspaper articles that Joe had dropped.

_**A/N: **__Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. You put a smile on my face when I come in at the end of a crappy work day and I really appreciate it. This story was a year in the telling so it means alot to me that all my hard work was worth it. Thank you. :)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Where did you get those?" Fenton shouted, his face red with rage as he stepped into the room.

"Off the internet," Frank answered quietly.

"Who the hell told you about this?" Fenton demanded furiously. "Was it Mike?"

"Mike?" Frank repeated. "Why would Mike tell us? He wanted us off the case to begin with."

"Yeah, but he also wanted to tell us about it after you were attacked," Joe pointed out.

Ten seconds of ringing silence followed this pronouncement, during which Joe clapped his hand over his mouth.

"And just how would you know that, Joe?" asked Fenton, his tone dangerously quiet.

"I overheard you and Mike talking about it the night of Frank's attack. I was in your office," said Joe as he dropped his hand from his mouth and raised his chin in part defiance, part apprehension.

"You WHAT?" Fenton exploded and took a step towards him. Joe, looking slightly alarmed, took a step back.

"I warned you to butt out!" Fenton yelled, looking angrier than either boy had ever seen him. He grabbed Joe by the arm and shook him hard. "I told you I didn't want you involved in this case!"

"DAD! STOP!" Frank yelled and pulled Fenton's arm as Joe stared up in shock at their father.

The anger on Fenton's face disappeared instantly to be replaced by a look of horror. He dropped Joe's arm and took a step back.

"Oh, God!"

Shaking, Fenton sank into the chair by Frank's desk and buried his face in his hands. He felt sick. He didn't believe in physical violence, yet here he was shaking one of his own sons like a rag doll because he couldn't control his obsession with this case. It was all he could think about, even before Frank had become a target.

His time in NYPD had taught Fenton one thing; all cops have a case. It was like some cruel twist of fate. If a cop dodged the bullet, the bottle, the cancer, God gave him a case. This one had been Fenton's. He had spent years dreaming of the murdered boys with their wide, staring, glassy eyes and the expression of terror etched on each of their faces. The gruesome details of their last few days on earth had haunted Fenton and every fibre of his being had screamed for justice for those boys. But with each new victim, the laughter of their killer echoed in his ears; sneering at him. This case had driven Fenton to his breaking point once before, and now it was doing it again.

Except this time he had more to lose.

Dragging his hands in a downward motion from his eyes to his mouth, Fenton looked up at his sons who were watching him in silence. He saw the apprehension in their eyes and swallowed. He had made some terrible mistakes with this case.

"Boys, I am…so sorry," he said hoarsely.

"That's okay, Dad," said Frank quietly.

"No, it's not!" Fenton insisted. "My behaviour has been unacceptable these last few weeks. I should have given you more of an explanation as to why I didn't want you involved in this case, and I certainly owed you more than shouting at you and threatening you to stay out of it!"

Frank shrugged a little uncertainly. "You were just trying to protect us."

"And I did a real good job of that, didn't I?" said Fenton bitterly, glancing at the cast on Frank's arm.

"Dad, that wasn't your fault!"

"Yes, it was!" said Fenton, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I should have caught this guy years ago."

"Dad?" Joe spoke up. "Are those…are those true?" He pointed to the newspaper articles that Fenton had clutched in his hand. Barely glancing at them, his father nodded.

"Oh." Joe dropped his hand.

It was clear to Fenton that Joe was terrified of anything happening to his brother. Not that he blamed him, every time he closed his eyes he saw Frank as one of those boys and it was slowly driving him mad.

"Dad, why didn't you tell us?" asked Frank quietly.

Fenton sighed. "This case was the worst I've ever seen and I've never forgotten it, even after I left New York. It's just one of those things that haunts you…" his voice trailed off and he stared broodingly ahead of him for a moment before continuing. "I realise that this doesn't excuse the way I behaved, but I hope it explains some of it. I'm sorry for how harsh I've been towards both of you. And, Frank, I also owe you an apology for what happened with Callie. I know how much you like her and I behaved like a complete ass in front of her…I'm sorry."

Frank blushed, shrugged and then muttered something inaudible under his breath to which Joe gave a watery grin.

"Joe," Fenton turned to his youngest, "I'm sorry for my behaviour when I entered this room. I wasn't thinking straight and I behaved appallingly."

"Dad, it's okay-" Joe began but his father cut him off.

"No, it is not! Physical violence is never alright! I was way out of line, Joe and I'm sorry."

"Well, we should have butted out when you told us," Joe countered. "Dad, I'm sorry we pried."

Fenton gave a hollow laugh. "You didn't pry, Joe. You both had a right to know about this once Frank was attacked. Mike was right about that…" his voice trailed off and he stared at the ground, a pained expression on his face as he thought of how dismissive he had been towards his old friend. That was another person to whom he owed an apology…Fenton had a feeling he was going to spend quite a bit of time grovelling over the next few days.

"Mike and I both wanted to protect you from the sordid details of this case," he explained in a tired voice, "but once we knew he had attacked Frank, Mike wanted to tell you. It goes without saying that I didn't."

He gave them a broken smile. "I was trying to protect you from the brutal truth about this case…you've already witnessed enough violence."

Frank glanced at his brother then back at his father. "Dad, can I ask a question?"

Fenton nodded.

"How do you know it's the same guy from all those years ago?"

Fenton hesitated for a minute before answering. "When this guy first started to kill, he would send paintings to his victim's families."

"Paintings?" Joe repeated and Fenton nodded.

"This guy is obviously an artist. He would paint a portrait of his victims and send it on to their family after he killed them."

"What kind of paintings?" Frank wanted to know.

"You don't need to know that!" said Fenton at once. "But those paintings were his signature, his hallmark. And that morning we went to New York, it was a painting of Andrew Watson that Mike showed me in that folder. I knew as soon as I saw it that it was him…and that Andrew Watson was dead."

"So how do you know it was the same guy who attacked Frank?" asked Joe in a subdued voice.

"We already had our suspicions because Andrew Watson's body turning up here in Bayport was too much of a coincidence," Fenton replied quietly. "But when temazepam turned up in that syringe, we knew it was him. He used it to subdue all the other boys."

Fenton shuddered inwardly. If it hadn't been for that janitor, Frank _would_ have been one of those boys! Fenton kept turning cold every time he thought about it.

"So…why _did_ he pick me?" asked Frank in a small voice and Fenton could tell that behind all of Frank's cool composure, he was scared.

"I don't know," the detective answered quietly. "We never found out how he selected his victims, only that he stalked them before abducting them."

"He's been watching me?" Frank whispered while Joe looked sick.

"Probably," answered Fenton unhappily as Frank's gaze slid to the ground.

"Why is he coming back now?" Joe demanded.

"I have no idea," said Fenton, neglecting to mention that Mike suspected this man had never stopped killing…merely moved his hunting grounds elsewhere. Lying by omission didn't really count as lying.

Frank looked up from the floor. "Dad, was this guy really the reason you left the police department?"

Fenton nodded.

"Why?"

"Because this case nearly destroyed me," replied Fenton softly. "It was all I could think about; I was eating, drinking, sleeping and breathing this case…and it wasn't enough. No matter how hard I worked, parents kept losing their sons. And even though you two were only babies at the time, every time I looked at you, all I could think was _what if I become one of those parents_? It wore me down in the end. I could have asked to be taken off the case, but I knew if I stayed with NYPD I would never be able to let it go. I never forgot it though…and now here I am again, trying to find this guy!"

Fenton gave an angry sigh as the past flashed before his eyes. The case had not only worn him down, it had nearly destroyed his marriage. His obsessive, angry behaviour had frightened Laura and she had begged him to drop the case because she couldn't go on like that. Yet here he was again, supposedly older and wiser, allowing this monster to get under his skin.

_But I'll get you this time,_ Fenton vowed. _You've destroyed enough lives!_

**xxx**

Frank returned to school the next day under strict instructions not to leave the grounds. Joe, likewise, was under the same orders.

Fenton wasn't taking any chances.

"Boys, don't leave the school grounds under any circumstances," he warned one last time, pulling up in front of the school. "If there are any problems or you need to leave early for any reason, call home."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Fenton pulled out two cell phones and handed one to each of them. "These are emergency only," he warned. "No calling your friends on them, okay?"

Their mouths open, both boys nodded.

Fenton gave them a weak smile. "I'll be here after school to pick you up, okay?"

"But, Dad, I have football practice!" Joe protested at once. "I've already missed the last two and Coach won't be too happy if I miss another!"

"I'm sure he'll understand," said Fenton. "All the staff have been warned to be alert for any strange men on the school grounds. Con spoke to them at a faculty meeting last week."

"Which is why practice was cancelled," Joe grumbled. "Dad, why can't I just catch a ride with Tony or something?"

"NO!" shouted Fenton and then lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, Joe, but until this guy is caught then I'm going to have to confine you and Frank to the house. I'm not taking any chances."

"But that's not fair!" cried Joe. "Dad, it's like we're the ones being punished!"

"Couldn't Mike or Sam pick Joe up?" asked Frank, coming to his brother's aid. He knew how much being on the football team meant to Joe.

Fenton sighed. "Fine! Joe, what time does practice end?"

"Six thirty."

"I will be here at six thirty to pick you up. You wait inside the school doors, and I will come in for you, got that?"

"Yeah, thanks, Dad!" Joe gave his father a beaming smile.

"See you this evening, Dad," said Frank, also smiling as he climbed out of the car.

Joe smiled again and patted his father on the shoulder before following after his brother.

Fenton watched as the boys made their way to the front door where they were surrounded at once by their friends, all welcoming Frank back. A pretty blonde girl stood on tiptoe to give Frank a kiss on the cheek, and although he couldn't hear it, Fenton knew all the boys were cat-calling and teasing Frank.

Despite the pressure and fear that had been present ever since he had brought the boys to New York, Fenton couldn't help but smile at his eldest son's embarrassed yet pleased smile.

His sons were growing up.

Fenton could already see that they would become fine men, sons any father would be proud of, and he was damned if he was going to let anyone take them away from him.

With a last glance at the laughing teenagers, Fenton started the car and pulled away from the high school.

**xxx**

Despite the fact that he still felt a little tired and weak, Frank thoroughly enjoyed his first morning back at school. His fellow students seemed delighted to see him back on his feet and welcomed him warmly.

Frank was touched, and felt bad for having scorned them the previous week when they had been discussing Andrew Watson's death. He supposed it was easier to theorise about the death of someone you didn't know; Andrew Watson was just another faceless statistic in the newspaper to them.

But he was still somebody's son.

Frank had thought about the Watsons many times over the last few days. Although he hadn't mentioned it, the thought was ever present in his mind that it could have been his family…that it could have been him.

And it frightened him.

A large part of Frank wondered if they didn't catch this guy, would he ever have a normal life again or would he have to be constantly watched and guarded? The thought was not one that appealed to him. For one thing, what about his date with Callie?

Now that the gut-wrenching fear of trying to ask her out was gone, Frank was really looking forward to his date with the pretty blonde. There was something special about her, although he couldn't quite put his finger on what. All Frank knew was that no other girl had ever left him feeling speechless or sent his head reeling just by the way she smiled at him.

Yes, Frank Hardy was very much looking forward to his date with Callie.

Smiling to himself, Frank was jerked out of his reverie by a hand waving in his face. "Hello?! Earth to Frank Hardy!"

Frank blinked into the grinning face of Phil Cohen. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Just thinking."

"Well, your face is bright purple and you've got this loopy grin, so I'm guessing you were thinking about Callie, right?" Phil teased, as they started to walk up the hall together.

Frank sighed. "How long am I going to have to put up with this?"

"About a week," replied Phil cheerfully. "Probably longer. Face it, Frank, we've been waiting for you to make a move for months so we plan on getting some serious mileage out of this one!"

"Of course you do," Frank groaned and Phil laughed.

"At least we're not Joe. You know he won't let up for at least a month!"

"Probably longer since Callie asked me out," Frank grumbled.

Phil stopped walking and turned to Frank with an expression of glee. "She asked you out?!"

"So?" said Frank defensively. "Karen Saunders asked you out!"

"That's true," Phil conceded, unperturbed. The guys had long since gotten tired of teasing him about that; it was Frank's turn now. "Must be something in the water."

Frank rolled his eyes as they started to walk again.

"So," said Phil, his expression growing serious, "how are you?"

"Fine. A bit tired but that's it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Frank studied him closely. "Why?"

Phil sighed. "Joe didn't tell us anything about the attack and he's been kind of grim about the whole thing even after you were okay, and now you haven't mentioned it either…Frank, does this have something to do with your Dad's case?"

Frank's heart sank. He was still digesting the information he had discovered the day before and definitely didn't feel like sharing it with any of his friends just yet. Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer by a slight commotion just up ahead of them.

A group of football players were rough-housing, laughing and joking as they threw a football back and forth. Frank wondered where Principal Wood was, he didn't usually allow such behaviour in the school corridors. As one of the boys threw the ball hard, another one of the boys dove forward and caught it. Lifting his arms in a victory dance above his head, the boy cheered loudly.

Frank felt his blood began to boil as he realised who it was.

Kenneth Nash.

The Hardy Boy had not seen the brash teenager since that day on the Bay. Nash had nearly killed his brother and now here he was, laughing and joking as though he had nothing to atone for.

His nerves already stretched and frazzled by the events of the last few days, Frank could feel the white-hot rage he had experienced the day of Joe's near-drowning start to seethe within him once more. Despite Phil's best efforts to stop him, the dark-haired teenager stalked over to Nash. "I want a word with you!" he growled at the other boy.

Kenneth Nash surveyed him, a lazy grin on his face. "About?"

"You know damn well what about! You nearly got my brother killed!"

Again Nash gave him an infuriating smile. "I did no such thing. Ain't you heard, Hardy? I lost control of the boat, couldn't help any of what happened."

"That's a lie!"

"It isn't. You go check out my boat and you'll see the throttle is jammed, it got stuck out on the Bay and I couldn't control the boat."

"You seemed to manage getting back to the dock just fine," Phil commented, coming up behind Frank.

"Just lucky I guess," sneered Nash.

"Luck had nothing to do with it!" snarled Frank. "You hit my brother, realised you'd gone too far, panicked and went screaming for Daddy!"

Nash's smile disappeared as his friends behind him snickered. "Why don't you prove it?! All any cop will see when they look at that boat is a useless throttle; Dad said they can't blame anything on me 'cause they have no evidence."

Phil, afraid his friend might loose control and do something stupid, tried to pull him back, but Frank's rage was beyond boiling point now.

"You sabotaged that boat so you could cover up what you'd done! Whose idea was it? Your Dad's? Because you're too stupid to have thought of it yourself!"

Several of Nash's friends guffawed and an ugly look stole across his face. "You know what, Hardy? You should consider being a little nicer to me or I might decide to sue that stupid little brother of yours for the damage his thick skull did to my boat!"

Frank snapped.

With a roar of anger, he dropped his books and launched himself at Nash. Swinging his good right arm, he smashed his fist as hard as he could into Nash's nose. There was a loud crack and a yell of pain from Nash as blood spurted from his nose.

"He broke my dose!" screamed Nash. "Dat badderd broke my dose!"

As his friends clustered around him, Phil pulled Frank back.

"Frank, what did you do?" he hissed fiercely.

Frank blinked, staring in shock at the scene in front of him. The adrenaline was still pumping in his body, but the cold chill of reality was also starting to descend. Had he really just hit another student?

_Oh, crap! I am in so much trouble! _

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" a voice roared.

Frank's heart sank as he recognised the figure of Principal Wood.

_**A/N**__: Only five chapters to go after this (although I'm still working on the final two!), and I really want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review. I know I say it at the end of every chapter, but I really do appreciate that you take the time to review so thank you! :)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

As Fenton crossed through Bayport Police Station, he couldn't help but notice the uncomfortable glances that were being thrown in his direction and sighed.

In the history of the Bayport Police Department there had only been a handful of murders, and certainly nothing close to the brutality of Andrew Watson's death. Fenton knew that most of the officers were extremely unsettled by the case and several of them had asked to be taken off it. The detective understood their fears only too well; most of them were fathers who could not wrap their heads around that kind of violence towards someone else's son.

Sighing, he knocked on the door to Chief Collig's office. The other man had called him earlier and asked him to drop by. The tone in his voice had been grimmer than usual and Fenton wondered what he wanted to talk to him about.

"Come in!" he heard the gruff voice call from inside the office.

As he pushed open the door, Chief Collig looked up from his desk. "Hello, Fenton. Come in, have a seat."

"Thanks, Ezra," Fenton replied, crossing the room and sitting into the chair opposite the Chief's desk. "What did you want to see me about?"

"Fenton, I had a phone call from William Nash yesterday evening."

The detective felt his apprehension rise. "What did he want?"

"He's claiming that the throttle on the boat jammed while out on the Bay and Kenneth couldn't help what happened to Joe."

"What?! That's crap!"

Chief Collig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I had some investigators examine the boat this morning…his story checks out, Fenton."

Fenton exploded. "It's been two weeks since the accident and he's only saying this now? He's had plenty of time to sabotage the boat since then!"

"I know, Fenton, but how can I prove it?"

"Ahem, how about the fact that it's taken him two weeks to come forward with this?!"

"Nash is claiming that he didn't want to disturb you until Frank was back on his feet."

"Oh, well isn't he considerate?!" spat Fenton sarcastically. "Ezra, seven teenagers saw Nash drive that boat just fine after he hit Joe!"

"I _know_! Fenton, what do you want me to do? I can't _prove_ it! It's Nash's word against theirs!"

"So, one teenager who's caused trouble before is more believable than seven teenagers who haven't?" Fenton was fuming.

Chief Collig frowned. "Fenton, will you please stop shouting! I believe you! And I will back you one hundred percent if you want to go ahead and press charges…but I am telling you now that if this goes to court it will be thrown out because of flimsy evidence! There is no way to prove when the boat was damaged so Nash could claim his son drove back to the dock as soon as he got the boat under control so as not hurt anyone else and not because he hit Joe! There are a hundred different excuses he could use…Fenton, you know that! How many cases have we seen go to trial only to fall apart because there wasn't enough evidence?"

"This is unbelievable!" snarled Fenton angrily, standing up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. "What am I supposed to tell the boys?"

"I'm sorry, Fenton," said the Chief quietly. He was bitterly reminded of a similar scene nearly four years ago. Why was it that a man who fought so hard for truth and justice found it so hard to get any when it came to his own sons? It wasn't fair.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, watching Fenton pace angrily back and forth.

"I don't know. Ezra, this isn't right! That Nash boy is nothing but trouble, how can he keep getting away with things like this?"

"Because his father is a little too good at getting him out of trouble!" Chief Collig snorted.

"He's not doing his son any favours," said Fenton sourly. "All that boy is learning is that he can get away with anything but someday he's going to go too far and Daddy won't be able to bail him out!"

"So are you going to press charges?"

"Yes. No…I don't know." Fenton sighed. "I need to think about this."

He groaned as he thought about telling the boys. Joe would probably be mildly angry and forget about it an hour later, but Frank…Frank would be livid. Despite his mostly cool and laid back temperament, his eldest son sometimes displayed a furious temper that overshadowed that of his youngest. Joe blew up fast, but cooled down just as fast. Frank, however, had a raw spot where his brother was concerned; mess with Joe and you got the whole experience of Hurricane Frank.

Fenton felt like his head was going to explode and shook it.

"There's too much going on right now, Ezra. I need to think about the best way to handle this…can I call you later?"

Chief Collig nodded his head sympathetically. He could only imagine the pressure Fenton was under right now; knowing a sadistic serial killer had his eyes on your son was enough to send any father over the edge.

Fenton righted the chair he had knocked over, straightened up and gave the Chief of Police a grim smile. "Thanks for letting me know, Ezra. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, Fenton. You take care."

Fenton felt Chief Collig's eyes on him as he left the office and felt a pang of remorse at his behaviour. He knew that Chief Collig didn't like the outcome of this any more than he did. He also knew that if he did decide to press charges, Ezra Collig would support him every step of the way.

Troubled, he made his way over to Con's desk, a little surprised when the only person he found there was Sam Radley working diligently on Andrew Watson's file.

"Hi," Sam greeted him.

Hey," Fenton returned. "Where's Con?"

"He just stepped out to grab some lunch."

"Have you seen Mike?"

"He went back to New York this morning," Sam answered, somewhat surprised that Fenton didn't already know this.

"What! Why?"

"He had a meeting with his Chief of Department, just to fill him in on how the investigation is going down here. Apparently the New York media has gotten wind of this guy's return and are having a field day with it so…"

"…his boss wants some answers," Fenton finished. "Yeah, I know the drill."

The detective sighed. He had really been hoping to speak with Mike; he was well aware of the fact that he owed his old friend an apology.

Fenton had stepped back from this case nearly twelve years ago, but Mike had never stopped working it. And yet as soon as Fenton had gotten involved again, he had taken over, pushing Mike to the sidelines on his own case. Mike knew this case better than he did and yet he had been dismissive of every proposition that Mike had made…including the suggestion that Fenton tell his sons' the truth behind Frank's attack. Mike had broached the subject several times, the last time being the day before Frank was due home from the hospital. He had argued that the boys would want answers about the attack and they would need to give Frank a reason for being under guard. But Fenton had exploded at him, shouting that this had nothing to do with Mike and he should mind his own business. Things had been a little strained between them since then and Fenton knew it was all his fault. Yet not once had Mike ever told him he was being an ass.

And Fenton knew he had been a tremendous ass. The encounter with his sons the evening before had opened his eyes to just had badly he had been handling this case, and much as Fenton hated to admit it, he had been wrong in every decision he had made regarding this case.

"Fenton, you okay?" Sam Radley's voice cut through his thoughts.

"I'm fine, Sam, just thinking. Have we got anything new?"

"Nothing. The coroner couldn't get anything else from Andrew Watson's body so he's released it to his parents for burial."

Fenton's heart gave a painful thump. "They shouldn't have had to bury him in the first place."

Sam could hear the reproach in the other man's voice. "Fenton, you do know that this wasn't your fault?"

Fenton half-nodded, half-shrugged. "Yeah, I know. It's just…I can't help but feel that if I had caught him…"

"Fenton! This guys stalks and abducts his victims so there's no witnesses, he cleans the body so there's no DNA or fingerprints and three criminal profilers have all stated that his IQ is well above average! This is not your common criminal and you are not a miracle worker!"

Sam looked so fierce that Fenton gave a weak laugh. "I know, Sam, I know. My own worst critic, right?"

"Exactly. Now cut yourself some slack," Sam told him. Changing the subject he added, "how's Frank?"

"He's okay, all things considered."

"What do you mean?"

Fenton sighed. "The boys found out about the case."

"What! How?"

"By being detectives," Fenton answered with a small grin and told Sam everything that had happened the evening before.

Sam shook his head. "Well, Fenton, I will give them this, they are _definitely_ your kids!"

"Yeah."

"Does Laura know that the boys know?"

"Not yet. I'm trying to work out how to tell her," Fenton grimaced. It was one conversation he was not looking forward to having with his wife. This case terrified her and she had been freaking out ever since she had discovered Frank was a target. Fenton wouldn't be surprised if she called the school several times throughout the day just to make sure Frank and Joe were still in their classes.

Suddenly, a tinny noise erupted in his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out his cell while Sam put his head down and continued to read the files in front of him.

"Hello?" Fenton spoke into the phone. He frowned a little as he listened to the speaker on the other end. "He did what?!"

Sam looked up from the notes as Fenton's face got darker. "I'll be right there," he said and hung up.

"Problems?" asked Sam, observing Fenton's thunderous expression.

"That was the school. Frank just got suspended."

Sam was shocked. "What! Why?"

"Apparently, he punched Kenneth Nash in the face and broke his nose!"

"Frank did?! Way to go, Frank!"

"Sam!"

"Oh, come on, Fenton, you know as well as I do that if Frank lashed out like that then Nash must have provoked him in some way."

Fenton sighed. "And I can guess what it was about; William Nash is claiming the boat malfunctioned and his son couldn't control it. Chief Collig just told me."

"That's bull!" Sam scoffed. "Every kid on that boat saw Nash drive away without any problems after he hit Joe."

"Doesn't matter," said Fenton sourly. "Investigators examined the boat and found that the throttle was faulty. It's now his word against theirs because there's no way to prove _when_ the boat got damaged."

Sam was disgusted. "You do know the little brat probably sabotaged it afterwards to make it look like an accident?"

"But I can't prove it!" Fenton scowled. "And I really wasn't looking forward to telling Frank and Joe about it this evening, especially Frank. But it looks like Nash may have saved me the trouble."

"If that's the case then you really can't blame Frank. Nash could have killed Joe and with all the stress Frank's been through in the last two weeks, if Nash was taunting him about it then he was bound to snap!"

Fenton was shaking his head. "He shouldn't have hit the Nash boy. I've always taught the boys that violence is never okay…I can't believe Frank did this."

"You're not going to punish him, surely?"

"I don't know yet," Fenton replied, a grim expression on his face. "But we're certainly going to have a little talk about his actions. I'm going to head over to the school and pick him up. I'll see you later, Sam."

"Okay. Bye, Fenton."

Sam watched the detective walk out the door with an anxious frown on his face. He had never seen Fenton as stressed or uptight as he was at the moment. Not that he blamed him; it had not been an easy few weeks for the Hardys and Sam could see how much this case was eating at Fenton before Frank even became a target.

He just hoped they found this guy soon.

**xxx**

Frank was sitting outside the Principal's Office when Fenton Hardy arrived at Bayport High. The detective gave him a furiouslook before striding into the office to have a word with the principal. Less than ten minutes later, he reappeared and glowered at his eldest son.

Frank stood up and stared at his father with a guilty expression. "Dad, I'm really sorry."

"We'll talk on the way home," said Fenton shortly.

Frank nodded and followed his father in silence to the car. They sat in and Fenton waited until he had started the car and pulled out of the parking lot before exploding at his son. "Frank, I can't believe you did this! What the hell were you thinking?!"

Frank tried to defend himself. "Dad, I'm sorry but he was being such a jerk! He said that none of what happened on the Bay was his fault and when I told him he was lying, he told me I should think about being nice to him or he'd sue Joe for the…for the damage his _thick skull _did to his boat!"

The car swerved a little as Fenton whirled to look at Frank. "He said WHAT?!"

Quickly Frank recounted everything that had happened in the hall with Nash. When he was finished, his father was grinding his teeth and clutching the steering wheel as he stared intently at the road. "That boy is never going to learn. If his father keeps bailing him out whenever he gets in trouble then all he's going to become is a petty thug!"

"Does that mean he was telling the truth about the boat?"

"He was telling the truth about the boat being damaged," said Fenton bitterly, "but as to _when_ it was damaged? That's another story."

"Does this mean he's going to get away with what he did?" demanded Frank, outraged.

"We can still press charges," Fenton replied. "But I don't know if they would stand up in court. And now there's the possibility that Kenneth Nash could press charges against _you_!"

Frank dropped his head in shame. "Dad, I'm really sorry. I know I shouldn't have lashed out like that but when Nash started in on me…I just _snapped_.I don't know what came over me."

Fenton glanced at his son. Frank was pale and tired looking, and there was a tense, strained expression around his eyes. He sighed. Sam was right, Frank was under too much pressure.

"It's okay, Frank," he told him. "I understand. Don't get me wrong, you shouldn't have hit the Nash boy and we're going to have to discuss some form of punishment, but I understand why you lashed out."

Frank glanced up at his father in surprise. "You're not mad at me?"

"I didn't say that," Fenton was quick to correct him. "I said I understand. Frank, I know you're scared, and I know you're probably wondering what's going to happen to you if this guy isn't caught. But I promise you, Frank, I will get this guy. No matter what it takes, I will get him."

"But what if you don't?"

"Believe me, Frank, I will."

Fenton meant every word of his promise; he did not want to see his son spend the next few years of his life constantly looking over his shoulder for the monster in the shadows. He wanted him to live a normal life, not one of stifled protectiveness. He knew that if they never caught this guy then they would never know for sure if Frank was safe; would he always be a target or would this guy get bored and move onto a victim who was easier to obtain? Or would he fixate on his son and stalk him for the rest of his life? The only way to ensure that Frank was one hundred percent safe was to catch the killer.

"How long are Joe and I going to have to live under lock and key?" asked Frank suddenly.

"Just until he's caught, Frank, you know that."

"But how long will that take? Weeks? Months? _Years? _Are we supposed to just stop doing normal stuff until then?"

"You don't have to put your lives on hold, your options will just be a little limited for a while."

It sounded lame even to Fenton's own ears.

"That's not good enough, Dad. What about Joe's football practice? We had to beg you this morning to let him go. Are we going to have that argument every time he has practice? And what about my date with Callie? Am I supposed to expect her to wait until this guy is caught so I can go out with her? And what about hanging out with our friends or doing normal stuff like going to the park?"

"Do you think I like this?" asked Fenton wearily. "Do you think I want this for either of you? Frank, I am just trying to keep you safe!"

"I know that. But, Dad, asking us to put our lives on hold so that this guy can continue to kill is punishing us, not him and it isn't fair."

Frank fell silent and looked out the window.

Fenton sighed. Frank was right. Confining his sons to the house was punishing them for the actions of a sadistic killer. It _wasn't_ fair. It wasn't fair that all those boys were dead. It wasn't fair that so many parents had had to bury their sons. It wasn't fair that this man had yet to be punished for all the pain he had caused.

Pulling into the driveway of the Hardy home, Fenton noticed the officer watching the house was signalling to him. "Frank, you go inside. I'll be in in a minute."

He watched his son enter the house before heading over to the officer across the street.

It was Officer Griffin, a man Fenton had worked with many times and liked immensely. "Afternoon, John," he greeted the officer with a warm but tired smile. "How've you been?"

"Pretty good," the other man returned. "I don't have to ask how you've been, the circumstances speak for themselves."

"Yeah." Fenton glanced away.

"Any luck finding the guy?"

Fenton shook his head. "Not a single lead."

"That's rough," said John sympathetically. "Guess you'll be keeping a pretty tight eye on your boy until he's caught?"

"On _both_ my boys!" said Fenton. "I'm not taking any chances with this guy."

"You're not the only one who's thinking like that. Four officers with teenage sons have called in sick in the last few days. They're all keeping a pretty close eye on their kids."

Fenton closed his eyes. The panic was starting. It was New York all over again.

John shuffled uncomfortably. "Fenton, my shift ended two hours ago but because we're so short on manpower, I can't get anyone to watch the house."

"Don't worry about it, John. Head home, get some rest. I'll just work out of my own office for the rest of the day."

"Okay, but call if there's any problems, alright?" the officer clapped Fenton on the shoulder before climbing into the police cruiser. As he pulled out and drove off, Fenton pulled out his cell phone and dialled Sam.

He listened to the phone ring on the other end before Sam picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sam, it's Fenton."

"Fenton, what's up?"

"Would you mind picking Joe up after school? There isn't any one else to watch the house this evening and I don't want to leave it."

"Of course. What time?"

"He has football practice, so is six thirty okay?"

"It's fine."

"I told him to wait inside the school doors so you might have to go into the school…sorry, Sam."

"Fenton, it's fine. I understand. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. And thanks, Sam."

"Don't mention it."

Sam hung up and Fenton slipped his phone back into his pocket. For several minutes he stood with his back to the trees, surveying the Hardy home.

It was the American dream; a white house with a wraparound porch, a wonderful wife and two sons. All that was missing was the picket fence.

Fenton just hoped that no one would take his dream from him.

_**A/N:**__ I got a real kick out of everyone who enjoyed Frank's punch in the last chapter (cause I was secretly cheering him on as well!); it's much more fun to give Frank a few flaws then to have him as perfect as he is in canon! So thank you everyone who reviewed, hope you enjoy this chapter! _


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"Joe! Frank's been suspended!" Phil gasped out the words as he caught up with the younger Hardy and Biff in the Hall.

"What?!" Joe was shocked. "What happened?"

"He broke Kenneth Nash's nose!"

Biff's jaw dropped. "_Frank_ did? Phil, are you sure?"

"I was standing right there," Phil replied shortly. "I'm sure."

Joe was stunned. "Frank hit someone? My brother Frank?"

Phil nodded.

"But…_why_?"

Phil hesitated, reluctant to tell Joe that Nash had goaded his brother about what had happened on the Bay. But the blonde boy could see it in his face. "It's because of me, isn't it?"

"What? No! Well, not really…" Phil sighed. "Alright, maybe a little. But it wasn't really Frank's fault, Joe, Nash was being a real jerk. He was taunting Frank about what happened and then…well…he made a pretty nasty crack about how you damaged his boat when he hit you."

Joe looked confused, not quite understanding what Phil meant, but Biff understood at once and exploded with anger. "That scumbag! Who the hell does he think he is? Forget Frank, if I get my hands on that creep, I'll pound his ass!"

"No!" said Joe at once. "Biff, Nash isn't worth getting into trouble over. I can't believe Frank…" he gave a sigh of frustration as his voice trailed off. "Where is he now, Phil?"

"I think your dad came to pick him up."

"Oh." Joe felt his heart sink. Even though it wasn't his fault, the boy felt partly responsible. He wondered just how much trouble Frank was in and wished he could talk to him, make sure he was alright.

Joe's thoughts strayed to the cell phone in his schoolbag. Would this qualify as an emergency? Could he call home and talk to Frank? Or would he get him into even more trouble by doing what his father had expressly told him not to? Lost in thought, he paid no attention to the other students hurrying to their next class or the rapidly emptying school corridor.

It was Phil who pulled him out of his musings. "Joe, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Frank. I know he's just out of hospital, but he was acting really weird today; kinda quiet and jumpy, not like Frank at all. And the way he lost it at Nash…" Phil bit his lip. "Is he okay?"

"Frank's fine," Joe mumbled uncomfortably, not wanting to tell the boys anything about what they had discovered the evening before. His brother had been painfully quiet after the talk with their father and Joe had got the distinct impression that the case bothered him far more than he was letting on. He knew that Frank wouldn't want anyone to know the disturbing truth. At least not yet.

"Okay," said Phil, looking unconvinced. Biff also looked like he wanted to say something, although neither of them pushed the issue.

Joe wondered just how much they had guessed about Frank's attack. Did they suspect it had something to do with Fenton's case? He felt a little guilty about not telling their friends the truth, but what they told them and when was all down to Frank.

"We should probably get to class," Joe mumbled, not quite looking either of them in the eye. He knew they wanted answers - knew they deserved them - but, aside from being concerned about Frank's reaction, he couldn't bear the thought of telling them the horrible truth behind their father's case and Frank's attack. It made him physically ill to think about it.

For the first time, Joe truly understood why their father had been so anxious to protect them from the truth.

"Boys, shouldn't you be in class?" called a voice suddenly and they turned to see Mrs. West, the stern-faced Biology teacher, walking towards them. "Well?" she frowned at them as she came to a halt beside Phil.

"We were…um…" Biff fumbled, looking at the other two for a plausible reason as to why they were out of class. "We were just…getting some books."

"Well, I suggest you get them and return to class, Mr. Hooper, unless you want a detention!"

"Yes, Ma'am," they chorused, and scrambled to get to their next class.

**xxx**

Mike Wilson was fuming as he drove back to Bayport. The meeting with his boss had revealed some alarming discrepancies within NYPD, the biggest of which was that Steve Johnson was responsible for the leaks to the New York media. Mike knew that the man had an intensely dislikeable nature, but he never thought that he would do something as reprehensible as this. The detective had argued strongly that Johnson be suspended for his actions, but the department had refused, claiming that suspending an officer would only make the department look culpable.

Mike was sickened by the politics behind it. As far as he was concerned, the decision stank. These leaks meant that the families of the murdered boys were reliving the horror of the past, their pain splashed across every newspaper in New York, and yet the people responsible were not going to be held accountable. With a growing sense of disillusionment, Mike wondered when human pain had become another casualty of political collateral damage?

But it wasn't something that Mike could dismiss so easily. The names of the murdered boys rang like a roll call in his head; Riley Harris, Chris Gallagher, Colin Jansen, Kyle Hamilton, Luke Mullen, Elijah Marks, Andrew Watson…he could only imagine the pain their parents must be going through as old wounds were reopened once more.

"Goddamn stupid bureaucratic _bullshit_!" he yelled aloud, thumping the steering wheel in frustration. He felt so useless. When he had first become a police officer, Mike had taken a vow to 'protect and serve.' Now, however, he felt as though he had failed to protect while his whole department was failing to serve.

**xxx**

"Mr. Radley?"

Sam looked up from the file he had been studying to see a young officer staring anxiously at him. "Yes?"

"I've got a guy on the phone who says he's a cab driver. He's claiming that he drove some guy to the Hardy home who just stared at the house before telling him to drive away again."

Sam's ears picked up at once. "Can you put him through to me?"

The officer nodded and moved away. Minutes later, the phone on Con's desk rang. Sam picked it up at once. "Sam Radley speaking."

"Mr. Radley?" a deep voice sounded on the other end. "My name is Earl Foster. I heard about an attack on one of Fenton Hardy's sons and that it might be connected to the body found in Barmet Bay."

"Really?" said Sam carefully, on guard at once. Experience told him that this guy could be a journalist trying to get some information out of him "Where did you hear that?"

"Bayport is buzzing with the story. Anyway, that's not the point."

Sam was surprised. "It's not? Then…what is?"

"I was working the late shift one evening and I picked up this guy at the train station-"

"Can you remember what evening it was?" Sam interrupted, beginning to realise that this call was genuine.

"Saturday or Sunday - I'm not exactly sure which - but I think it was about three weeks ago. Anyway, I was parked in front of the station and this guy suddenly climbed into the back of my cab and asked me to follow a black ford that was just pulling out of the parking lot."

Sam's pulse quickened. Laura Hardy drove a black ford. "Did you ask him why he wanted to follow that car?"

Earl Foster chuckled. "I sure did! I'm a nosey man by nature, Mr. Radley, and when someone hops in my cab like in the movies and tells me 'follow that car!' well, I want to know why!"

"What reason did he give you?"

"Said he had seen a lady drop her purse but she hadn't heard him call her, so he was following her to return it. I just thought he was being a good Samaritan."

Sam started to make notes. "What happened when you got to the house?"

"Well, that's where things got a little strange. He just watched the house for a few minutes before saying he had made a mistake, it was the wrong woman. Then he asked me to take him back to the station."

_That was definitely odd_, thought Sam, twirling a pen between his fingers. _Whoever he was, he was up to something_. Then another thought occurred to the detective. "Mr. Foster, how did you know that was the Hardy home?"

"I work for Swift Cabs, and Miss. Hardy uses us sometimes. I've dropped her to the house once or twice myself."

Sam noted the name of the cab company. "Can I ask, why are you only coming forward with this now?"

The man's voice was sheepish. "Truth be told, I forgot about it. I mean, that first evening it was just a funny story to tell the guys at the cab office! But then I didn't think of it again until I started hearing stories about what happened to Fenton Hardy's kid and the whispers about that body in the Bay. I wondered if it might have something to do with it and decided to call."

_Am I glad you did! _thought Sam, his excitement growing. This was the first possible lead they'd had since the discovery of Andrew Watson's body.

"Mr. Foster?" he addressed the other man again. "Could you describe this guy?"

"Tall and skinny," answered the man. "Brown hair…pretty ordinary looking really."

"Do you think you could describe him to a police sketch artist?"

"I could try," answered the man. "When do you want me to come in?"

"Tomorrow morning?" asked Sam hopefully.

"Sure, no problem. What time?"

"Is around ten alright with you?"

"Ten sounds good," replied the other man, excitement evident in his tone. Sam knew that he was probably already picturing himself telling the whole story to his buddies at the cab office, but didn't particularly care; what mattered to him now was that they finally had a break in this case.

"Mr. Foster, do you have a number I can contact you at?"

"Yes. It's 555-9467."

Sam jotted down the number. "Mr. Foster, thank you. I appreciate you getting in contact with us."

Have I been of any help?"

"You've been a big help!" said Sam gratefully. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good evening to you, Mr. Radley."

Sam hung up the phone. His brain was whirling and adrenaline was pumping through him. _Finally_, they had something they could work on.

Three weekends ago, Fenton had taken the boys to New York and abruptly sent them back to Bayport on the train. This man had obviously followed them from the station and had more than likely been stalking Frank since then.

_We're going to need the CTV footage for that day from the station_, Sam realised. He was exhilarated. _Wait until Fenton hears about this!_

Glancing at his watch, his heart gave a sudden thud. It was nearly six thirty and he was supposed to pick up Joe at six thirty. The detective realised that he had been so engrossed in the files he had lost track of time. Jumping up, Sam snatched up his jacket and keys before turning off the lamp on Con's desk. He could fill Fenton in on all that had just occurred when he dropped Joe off.

Saying a hasty goodnight to the few officers who lingered in the station between shifts, Sam hurried out the door and down the front steps.

As he crossed the parking lot, it started to rain. With a sigh, he realised that the rain would probably slow him down a little. Swinging the keys from his fingers, Sam reached his car and stopped dead.

All the tyres on his car had been slashed.

_What the hell? _thought Sam in frustration, as he stared in shock at the deep gouges in the rubber. Angrily, he cast his gaze around the parking lot but it was empty, the rain making loud plinking noises as it splashed off his car. Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. Something didn't feel right. Quickly he pulled out his cell phone and dialled.

**xxx**

Fenton Hardy was working at his desk and listening to the rain pounding against the window when his phone went off. Without glancing at the display, Fenton answered. "Hello?"

"Fenton, It's Sam."

"Sam? I thought you were supposed to be picking Joe up?"

"Someone slashed my tyres, I'm stuck here at the station!"

"Where's Con?"

"On a callout, he's not back yet. Jesus, Fenton! My car isn't the only one that's been vandalised…the other cars have had their tyres slashed too!"

Something went cold in the pit of Fenton's stomach and he stood up. "Sam, try and get hold of Mike or Con, send them over to the house. I'll go pick up Joe."

Without waiting for a response, Fenton hung up the phone and crossed the room. "Laura!" he called, as he pulled open the door.

His wife appeared in the doorway of the living room. "Fenton, what's wrong?"

He hurried over to her. "Lock all the windows and doors and set the alarm! Keep Frank in the living room with you."

"What's going on?" she demanded, alarmed by her husband's demeanour.

"I don't have time to explain," said Fenton, pulling open the front door. "Please, just do what I say and I'll be back soon."

Before she could answer, he had closed the door and was dashing into the pouring rain. _I hope I'm wrong about this_, Fenton prayed as he rushed to his car. He put his hand on the door handle then froze in fear.

All four tyres had been slashed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Joe scowled, looked at his watch and peered out the front door. His father was late. _After the big deal he made about catching a ride with Tony,_ _he's the one who's late! _

Watching the rain hit the ground hard, Joe yawned. It had been a rough practice and he was tired. "Come on, Dad!" he moaned, sagging as he laid his head against the door frame.

Suddenly a shrill scream cut through the air and the boy jumped.

_What the hell was that?_

Heart pounding, he squinted out through the teeming rain, trying to see where the cry had come from.

"HELP ME!" a female voice cried out, making him jump again. He started forward but then stopped. What if this was a trap? His father was always telling him to look before he leaped.

The female voice screamed again while Joe dithered, debating about what to do. What if some girl really was in trouble? He looked back and forth between the pouring rain and the deserted school corridor; there was no one else to help.

"NO! GET OFF ME! SOMEONE, PLEASE!" The voice sounded desperate now.

Torn, Joe took an uncertain step forwards. There was still no sign of his father's car and his instinct to help was starting to overrule the voice of caution in his head.

Another cry rang out, weaker than before and Joe felt sick. Someone might really be in trouble and he was just standing there like a coward. Steeling himself, the boy stepped out into the rain and glanced around to see where the cries had come from.

The screams seemed to have stopped and Joe felt a chill of foreboding. Had he waited too long? Jumping down the front steps and dashing across the lawn, he looked around. There was nobody there. Pushing his streaming hair out of his eyes, Joe could feel his hands shaking with fear and apprehension.

A loud groan from the small cluster of trees to his left made him jerk and stare wildly before taking several uncertain steps forward. Heart hammering painfully, he stopped just in front of them and swallowed. The rain was getting heavier and he had to squint to see through the darkening rain clouds. His gaze landed on what appeared to be a human foot sticking out from underneath the bushes between the trees. The boy gave a sharp intake of breath.

_Oh God!_

Yanking his school bag off his back, Joe rushed forward. Immediately something barrelled out from behind a tree and hit him hard, sending the boy staggering. Regaining his footing, Joe swung wildly at the figure but it ducked quickly before diving forwards and tackling him to the ground. He landed hard on his back, the man on top of him. With a burst of panic, Joe tried to scratch the man pushing him into the mud, but the man grabbed his wrists and pinned them down. Heart racing in fear, he kneed his attacker in the groin and heard a cry of pain. The tight grip loosened, and he managed to shove the man off him before sliding sideways to get away. Dripping with mud and the rain pounding hard in his face, Joe scrambled to his feet. Behind him he heard his attacker clambering clumsily to his feet as well, swearing under his breath as he did so.

Joe spun around to face the man, feeling a horrible dart of terror as he loomed above him. In the darkening rain and dripping with mud, he looked monstrous. As the man rushed forwards, Joe darted sideways in an effort to escape. But the man spun quickly seizing his arm and slamming him backwards into the nearest tree. A rag was shoved over his mouth and Joe recognised the smell of chloroform at once. Struggling desperately, he tried to evade the man's grip but he was bigger and stronger and kept a tight grip on the boy. Senses reeling and head spinning, the last thing Joe Hardy heard was the ringing of a cell phone.

**xxx**

Fenton stared in horror at his tyres.

_Oh God!_

A quick glance at Laura's car showed him that her tyres had been vandalised as well. Heart pounding, Fenton pulled out his cell phone and dialled Sam. "Come on, Sam, pick up!" he said urgently as he listened to the phone ring on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Sam! Get an officer to the school now! It doesn't matter who, just send anyone straight there!"

"Fenton, what-?"

"Please! Just do it!" Fenton urged. "I think it's him!"

Disconnecting the call, Fenton dialled Joe's cell with shaking fingers. _Please pick up, Joe, please pick up! _he prayed as the phone started to ring. _Come on, come on!_

"DAMMIT!" he roared as an automated voice told him the person he was calling was unavailable. Hoping that the phone was in Joe's bag and he merely hadn't gotten to it on time, the detective dialled the number again and waited with agonized stillness to hear his son's voice. _Please, Joe, answer the phone!_

His heart plummeted in fear as the phone went to that irritating, automated voice once more. Panic taking over, he dialled Sam again.

Sam answered on the second ring. "Fenton! What the hell is going on?"

"Did you get someone to go to the school?" asked Fenton, ignoring his question.

"Yeah, we sent out a radio call. There's a patrol car less than ten minutes from the school and they're on their way there now. Fenton, _what_ is going on?"

"My tyres were slashed," Fenton rushed out. "And Laura's! Sam…"

"Don't jump to conclusions," said Sam at once.

"But Joe's not answering his cell," Fenton whispered, fear in his voice.

Sam was silent for a moment before replying. "Maybe Joe had his cell on silent for class and forgot to change it back?"

"That does sound like something Joe would do," Fenton admitted, trying to stay calm.

"I know. Fenton, I want you to stay calm. Go back inside the house and wait for me to…hang on a second."

The detective heard voices on the other end and waited anxiously, clutching his phone harder than necessary to his ear."

"Fenton?" Sam was back on the line. "Con just radioed in. He's on his way over to your place, he'll be there shortly."

"Okay. Sam…"

"Fenton! For God's sake, go back inside! I can hear the rain down this end of the phone!"

Fenton started. He had forgotten the rain. He was standing there dripping wet but he had forgotten the rain. "I'm going back in now," he said, walking towards the house. "Sam, please let me know."

"I will," said Sam softly and hung up.

Fenton reached the front door but before he could get his key in the lock, the door swung open and Laura stood there pale with fright.

"We could hear you yelling in here," she said shakily. "Fenton, what's going on?"

He stepped past her into the hall. Frank stood in the doorway to the living room, wide-eyed and apprehensive.

Laura closed the door and turned to face her husband, dripping on the hall rug. "Fenton?"

"My tyres have been slashed," he said quietly. "So have yours."

"What! Why would anyone do that?" she cried.

"To incapacitate us," he replied grimly. "Sam Radley's tires were slashed as well."

"But…he was picking Joe up!"

"There's a patrol car on the way over to the school now," Fenton told her.

"Dad," Frank spoke up. "Did you call Joe?"

Fenton avoided his eyes. "He's not answering his cell."

Frank blanched while Laura gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

"Please don't panic," Fenton pleaded with them. "There might be nothing wrong."

"But what if there is?" she whispered, lowering her hand.

Fenton went to put his arms around her before realising he was dripping wet and stopped. "Laura, I told Joe to wait inside the school doors. The officers should be there any minute so lets just wait and see what they have to say, alright? Joe may just have his phone on silent." Fenton tried to keep his voice low and soothing both to mask the panic he was feeling and to calm his frightened wife.

Laura, trembling, nodded. "Fenton, why don't you…why don't you go upstairs and change out of those wet things? I'll make some tea."

"Good idea." Fenton's encouraging smile felt painted on. "Frank, why don't you help your mother?"

The teenager remained still, appearing not to hear his father. His expression was one of shock.

"Come on, honey," said Laura gently, leading him towards the kitchen.

Fenton waited until they had entered the kitchen before climbing the stairs two at a time. Entering his room, the detective stripped out of his sopping wet clothes and dragged dry ones from the closet. Just as he was buttoning up his shirt, the door bell rang and he tore out of the room in his stockinged feet, leaving the wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He hurried down the stairs and got to the bottom just as Laura pulled open the door.

Con Riley stood on the porch steps, his countenance grim.

"Con! Have you heard anything?" asked Fenton at once.

"Fenton, I'm sorry," said Con softly, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. "Sam just called me. Joe wasn't at the school."

Fenton closed his eyes.

"His school bag was found on the lawn," Con continued quietly, "along with evidence of a struggle."

The detective opened his eyes. "Is it him, Con?" he whispered, his voice tight with fear.

Con looked uncomfortable. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"There was no syringe, no temazepam, but one of the officers found a rag with what he thinks is chloroform on it."

"Chloroform? But that's not…he's never…" Fenton stopped, stunned. Was it possible that someone else had his son?

"What happened, Con?" asked Laura, her voice shaky and face white. "Fenton said he told Joe to wait inside the school."

The officer swallowed, looking deeply unhappy. "I think he was lured out."

"Lured out?" repeated Fenton, rigid and tense.

"The officers found a mannequin's foot sticking out from under a bush and a portable recorder with a woman screaming for help on it. They said it sounded pretty real."

"What…what do we do next?" asked Fenton, his mind unable to recall any of the procedures that he so often followed in situations like this. All he could think was that he had given in and allowed Joe to go to practice against his better judgement.

"Forensics are processing the scene now," Con answered softly. "And Sam thinks he may have a lead on the guy who attacked Frank."

"What kind of a lead?"

"A cab driver," replied Con, quickly filling Fenton in on what Sam had told him about the strange fare. "Sam's just called him, he's on his way into the station now. And we've sent two officers over to the train station to get the camera footage from that weekend."

"I guess that's something," said Fenton hoarsely. "What can I do?"

Con hesitated. When Sam had called him with the news of Joe's disappearance, he had begged Con to try and keep Fenton at the Hardy home. The detective had not been thinking clearly when it came to the case of the murdered boys and Sam was worried that he would be more of a hindrance than a help in the search for Joe.

Con had reluctantly agreed with him. He had seen Fenton's emotions get the better of him far too often in the past few weeks to the point that he sometimes did not think or act rationally. However, agreeing with Sam and getting Fenton to remain at the house were not the same things.

"Fenton, maybe you should stay here?" he ventured nervously.

Predictably, the detective goggled at him. "Stay here? Are you insane? Do you honestly expect me to just sit around on my ass while my son is missing?"

"It might be a good idea," said Con quietly. "I have an officer on the way here to install a trace on your phone just in case it isn't him, and you should be here in case there are any calls."

"If it's him then there won't be any call!" Fenton snapped. "And I'm not willing to take that risk!"

Con stepped closer to Fenton. "If it's not him then Frank is still a target!" he hissed in his ear. "Are you willing to take _that _risk?!"

Fenton had no answer, merely glared at Con who sighed. "Fenton, we are doing everything we can. Please, can you just trust us to do our jobs?"

There was a moment or two of tense silence before the detective silently sagged.

Con was relieved. He had expected a bigger fight from Fenton. The officer looked over to where a trembling Laura Hardy stood, her arm around an ashen-faced Frank.

"Laura, where's Gertrude?" he asked quietly.

"She's visiting a friend," Laura replied. "She said she wouldn't be back until late."

_Damn! _Con's heart sank. Fenton's sister was a strong willed and opinionated woman at the best of times, but she could be more than counted on to keep everyone calm in a situation like this. He sighed. He would just have to do this without the force of nature that was Gertrude Hardy.

"Why don't we go into the living room?" he suggested, trying to keep things calm. "Sam said he would call as soon as the cab driver was finished giving his description to the sketch artist."

Laura gave a move between a shrug and a nod and slowly propelled her son towards the living room.

Con turned to Fenton. "Are you coming?"

"Just gave me a minute," the detective whispered. "I need to call Mike."

Con gave an understanding nod and followed Laura and Frank into the living room. Laura looked up as he entered.

"I was just making tea," she said. "Will you have some?"

"No thank you, Laura," he replied politely.

"Some coffee then?" she asked, somewhat desperately and Con recognised in her a need to be doing _something_, regardless of how small or trivial.

"Coffee would be lovely, thank you."

She nodded and moved dazedly into the kitchen just as Fenton entered from the hall.

"I can't reach Mike," he told Con plaintively. "He's not answering his phone."

"Maybe he's driving?" Con suggested.

"Maybe." Fenton bit his lip and sank down on the couch beside a silent Frank. Con sat into the armchair.

The next two hours were long and uncomfortable. Con and the Hardys sat in the living room saying nothing and listening to the rain battering against the windows. Occasionally, their gaze would drift towards Fenton's cell phone lying silently on the coffee table. Con kept checking his watch, wishing Sam would call with some news for the Hardys; but their only contact had been the silent officer who had installed the trace on the Hardy phone then left.

Finally, around nine, the doorbell rang. Laura disappeared to answer it while Fenton and Frank stared hopefully in the direction of the hall. She returned a minute later with Sam Radley in tow.

"Sam!" exclaimed Fenton, jumping to his feet. "What's going on? Have you got anything?"

Sam, looking tired and grim, handed a piece of paper to Fenton. "That's the description the cab driver gave us of the man he drove here to the house. It's an almost identical match to a guy that was picked up on three different security cameras at the train station."

Fenton took the proffered page and studied the sketch. The man looked very ordinary; a thin face with brown hair. Not exactly a person one would pick out in a crowd. He looked at Frank who was watching him anxiously and handed him the picture. "Frank, does this look anything like the guy who attacked you?"

Frank's hands were shaking as he studied the picture. He wracked his brain trying to get some flash of memory from the night he was attacked but nothing would come to him. All he could remember was driving to karate and listening to a Counting Crows song playing on the radio. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and forced out the lyrics of _Raining in Baltimore _from his head, trying to get a glimpse of something else, anything, that might have happened that night.

There was nothing. Opening his eyes, Frank looked up at his father and felt like he might cry. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. "I can't remember."

"That's okay, Frank," said Fenton softly, as he removed the paper from the teenager's trembling fingers. "You did your best."

Squeezing his son's shoulder reassuringly, Fenton turned to Sam and Con who were on their feet and staring at him. "Have we _anything_ else?" he asked them.

"Not yet," answered Sam quietly. "Officers are looking through the campus security cameras from the high school, but so far they've come up with nothing. And Chief Collig has sent some officers to the houses of the kids who had football practice and any of the staff who might have still been there when Joe was abducted, just in case someone saw anything suspicious."

Fenton nodded. "Do we…have we any hint that it's him?"

Sam shook his head. "The MO is different. We can't be sure if it's him or not."

"Why did he go after Joe?"

The question was asked so quietly that they almost didn't hear it. The three men looked down at Frank who was looking up at them with frightened eyes. "If it's him…the guy from Dad's case, then why did he go after Joe? I thought…I thought I was the target?" He swallowed and Fenton could see that part of him was blaming himself.

"We don't know that it's him, Frank," he told his son quietly.

"But what if it is?" the boy persisted.

Sam opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of Fenton's cell phone going off. Fenton jumped, froze for a minute and then dived for the phone on the coffee table.

"Hello?" he answered quickly. "Mike! Where are you? I tried to…" the detective's voice trailed off as he listened to his friend on the other end. His face took on a shocked expression. "How did you…?"

Everyone in the room focused their attention on Fenton. "Mike, are you sure…what? No! Don't…" His voice trailed off and he clenched his jaw as he listened to the man on the other end of the cell. The others watched him anxiously as his face grew progressively darker and grimmer. "No way!" said Fenton sharply. "That is stupid and dangerous! You need to wait until-" An angry, frustrated expression darted across the detective's face as he was obviously interrupted by Mike once more.

Sam and Con looked at one another. What was going on?

"DON'T SAY THAT!" Fenton roared suddenly, making them all jump. "Mike, I swear, if you…hello? Hello?! GODDAMMIT!" Fenton yelled throwing his phone across the room. "SON OF A BITCH!"

**xxx**

Joe didn't know what woke him. His head throbbed painfully, his stomach felt nauseous and his mouth was uncomfortably dry.

_Where am I?_

Joe opened his eyes and saw only black, then felt himself start to spin. Nausea rose in his throat and he tried not to retch. It was then he realised he was gagged and blindfolded. He tried to get up but found himself bound hand and foot. He immediately attempted to loosen the ropes but his arms and legs felt like lead and his efforts were feeble. Letting his head fall back to the ground, Joe tried not to panic.

_Where am I? What's going on?_

Memories started to flit back to him in hazy images…_waiting for his father_…_hearing screams for help_…_being attacked by a shadowy figure_…

The reality of his situation began to dawn on him and cold terror snaked its way around his heart. Breathing hitching in fear and panic, the boy started to struggle with the ropes once more. Jerking his hands roughly, he forced out short, agitated gasps through the gag in suffocating bursts. His efforts only succeeded in pulling the ropes tighter around his wrists, rubbing them raw. With a groan of despair, he stopped fighting and concentrated on relaxing his frightened, rasping breathing.

Suddenly, a loud click sounded in the room and Joe heard the distinctive creak of a door. He froze and waited, listening to whomever had just entered the room. Heavy footsteps came across the floor towards him and then he heard a soft whoosh.

"Hello, Joe," said a voice by his ear, causing the boy to jerk in fright. "It's nice to meet you." An evil laugh followed the pronouncement before the man added, "And I'm sure it will be even nicer getting to know you."

_**A/N:**__ I have two things I want to say; first, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to review. I know I say it at the end of every chapter but I really do mean it. It means a lot to me when people take the time to review and I really appreciate it._

_Second, please do not flame me. I do welcome constructive critisim, it helps me improve as a writer. For example, I once had a reviewer tell me that the dialogue in my stories was a little formal and it taught me to watch out out for that, and I feel the dialogue in my stories has really improved since then. Pointing out something that a writer can improve on or watch for is helpful, telling her that her writing is 'rubbish' does not. I received two reviews on my last chapter (which I deleted) that claimed I had turned this into a 'Joe' story. The first review was cold and a little unfriendly, but it wasn't overtly rude and it probably wouldn't have bothered me so much if it weren't immediately followed by the most defamatory review I have ever had the displeasure to read. Telling a writer that she 'sucks' and doesn't 'have a clue about writing' and that her story is 'a pile of ' serves no purpose other than to upset, hurt and dishearten the writer. I also want to get one thing straight. I do not write 'Joe' stories, nor do I write 'Frank' stories. I write The Hardy Boys...plural._

_I understand that not everyone will like my story and what's more, I respect that. However, if you don't like a story then the solution is very simple...stop reading. I have read several stories that I have enjoyed which have suddenly taken a twist that I did not like (such as killing a Hardy family member. That's always out for me) and I just stopped reading. I have never felt the need to insult a writer because their story (that they had planned, plotted out and written) did not follow the path that I felt it should. That's arrogance and I would never dream of tearing apart someones hard work with hurtful remarks just because I didn't like it. _

_I'm well aware that the vast majority of readers and reviewers will not do this (in fact, they are usually wonderful people who posess the ability to lift a writer's spirit after even the crappiest of days at work), but I worked very hard on this story and spent the better part of a year writing it, and those two reviews (especially the second) were more than hurtful; they were crushing. If you don't like this story and decide to stop reading, that's fine, I completely respect that. If you see something I need to work on and want to tell me about it, then go ahead. I absolutely welcome that type of feedback because it really does help me as a writer. If you don't like my story and decide that you need to defame and insult my writing, please don't. Keep in mind that I would never do it to you. Thank you._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

As Joe lay on the floor trying to discern the meaning of the man's words, a hand stroked his face. With a muffled cry of fear and disgust, he jerked his head violently away.

A mocking laugh sounded from just above him. "Awww, too soon? That's okay, I can wait." The words were loaded with insinuation and left no room for doubt; Joe felt bile rise in his throat. His heart started to race as the hand touched him again, but it was only to remove the gag from his mouth.

"Who…who are you?" he managed to choke out, fear making his throat tight.

"My name is Ben," the man answered, before lifting Joe from the floor and placing him in a chair. The boy shivered as he heard the man sniffing his hair before a coil of rope was wound around him, securing him to the chair.

"You smell nice," Ben whispered suddenly in his ear and he jumped in fright.

The mocking laugh sounded again and the blindfold was removed. Joe blinked several times before a brightly lit basement came into view. It was sparsely furnished, the only things in it being the chair he was sitting on, an easel with a stool and side table containing paints, and a bed in the corner.

Joe's heart gave a sickening lurch at the sight of the bed and thoughts of the killer his father was investigating flashed through his mind. Was this him? Remembering what had happened to the other boys, he prayed it wasn't.

"How do you like your new home?" asked Ben, coming out from behind Joe and stopping in front of him. "Cosy, isn't it?"

Joe didn't answer. Instead, he kept his eyes on his muddy jeans, too afraid to look at this man. Ben laughed again and Joe cringed, already hating the sound of that cold, mocking laugh.

A hand reached down and cupped his chin, forcing his gaze upwards. Sharp, piercing blue eyes met his and Joe swallowed at the disgusting leer that unfurled slowly across a pale face.

"You don't like me much, do you?" asked the man quietly, his tone venomous in its softness. When Joe didn't answer, he grinned. "That's okay, the other boys didn't like me much either."

For a moment, Joe's heart stopped beating and his eyes grew wide.

Ben smiled wolfishly. "You know who I am, don't you?"

Even though he was sitting down, the boy felt his legs go weak.

The man licked his lips, enjoying the horror that flickered across Joe's face. "That's why you're so quiet, isn't it? You're afraid me." The smile on his face grew monstrous. "The other boys were afraid of me too, although they screamed a little at first." He ran a thin finger down Joe's check and smirked nastily. "But they all went quiet in the end."

Without warning, he dropped his hand and spun around, crossing over to the stool and easel. As he settled himself in the stool and picked up a paint brush, he addressed the boy. "I think I'll leave you covered in mud for your first picture, it adds a nice touch."

As he started to paint, Joe closed his eyes. He wanted to vomit.

"Eyes open," the man commanded. Reluctantly the boy opened them. He sat in silence for several minutes, watching the man rake his eyes over him while he painted. There was a horrible, excited expression on Ben's face and his insidious silence was filled with a meaning that Joe found both terrifying and repulsive. Finally he could no longer stand it and blurted out, "why are you doing this?"

The man looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Why…why hurt people like this?" Joe ventured, his voice shaky. "All those other boys…what you did to them…why?"

"The same reason that anybody does anything," shrugged Ben. "Because I wanted to."

"You…you wanted to?" Joe whispered.

"Yes." Ben lowered his paintbrush. "I know there are dozens of police officers and detectives and criminal profilers out there trying to psychoanalyse me, but the truth of the matter is there's nothing to psychoanalyse. My parents were wealthy, I had a good childhood and a decent education, there's no great trauma in my past…I just like causing pain."

Joe grappled with the man's words, his mind reeling. When his father had told them about this killer he had imagined someone crazy with wild eyes and a demented mind, but this man was so coldly sane, so calculating, that the horror of his crimes were all the more terrifying.

"Why would anyone like causing pain?" he asked before he could stop himself. But he was just so stunned, so appalled by this man's admission that he couldn't think clearly.

Ben smiled. "To someone like you, I'm just a monster, a freak of nature born without a conscience. I'm the kind of person papers are written about because I'm the human abnormality; the man with a defective gene or chemical imbalance, the man that was just born _wrong_. But you see, here's the funny thing, Joe, I'm less of a freak than people realise."

Slipping off his stool, Ben crossed over to Joe and crouched down in front of him. "Humans are all about morality and ethics, we learn the difference between right and wrong at an early age. More importantly, we're taught the consequences of doing wrong and that's where people fail to see the truth behind having a conscience; it's not something we're born with, it's something that's morally imposed on us by society. I find it funny that people like me are saddled with tags like sexual deviant or sadistic personality disorder when we're the only ones being truly honest about our baser instincts."

He reached out and caressed Joe's cheek, enjoying the shudder than ran through the boy's body. "I may be a monster in the eyes of society, but at least I don't lie to myself about my wants."

Joe's blood turned to ice at the look on Ben's face and he closed his eyes. Horrible choking fear seared through him. Despite his best efforts, his mind started to fill with thoughts of what this man was going to do to him and he could feel burning behind his eyelids. Hurriedly, he scrunched them tightly so that this man would not see him cry.

Ben laughed his horrible laugh. "Do you know what irony is, Joe?"

Careful to keep his eyes closed and his breathing quiet, Joe nodded.

"Want to know what the irony in this situation is?"

He waited a moment for Joe to answer, but when the boy never responded he merely leaned forward and continued speaking with unnerving relish. "It's a rather cruel irony really. You see, the fact of the matter is…I was going back to New York today."

Joe's eyes shot open and he stared at the malicious expression on the face in front of him.

Ben gave an evil chuckle. "Ironic, isn't it? I had just given up on your brother when fate presented me with you!"

He leaned forwards even more and brushed a lock of Joe's hair away from his ear before whispering, "do you know how much I wanted your brother?"

Evil insidiousness oozed from every word he spoke and it was too much for Joe, he couldn't stop the tears from spilling out. This man was disgusting and depraved…and he was terrified.

"Stop," he whispered.

"You mean you don't want to hear the whole story about why you're here and he's not?"

Joe shook his head.

"Well, too bad!" snarled Ben, his coldly dulcet tones changing abruptly to a harsh growl. "You're going to hear it whether you want to or not! Before your stupid brother came along, I always got what I wanted!"

He got to his feet and walked around Joe, stopping behind him. He reached forward and started to twirl a lock of the boy's hair between his fingers. The teenager started to shake and tried to suppress a sob. He was mortified and ashamed by his tears.

Ben leaned forwards and started to speak in Joe's ear. "A few weeks ago, I was getting the train back to New York when I saw two delightful creatures getting off the train in Bayport. So entranced was I, that I followed them home instead of catching my train."

He moved his hand through the boy's hair, stroking it. Joe swallowed the urge to be sick as Ben continued. "I'm sure you've guessed by now that they were you and your brother."

Using both hands, he forced the teenager's head back until he was looking at him. "By the time I discovered who your father was, it was too late. I had my heart set on your brother."

He laughed at Joe's terrified repulsion. "Oh, I admired you too, Joe, but I dismissed you as too much work." He let go of the boy's head, pushing it forward roughly and walked around the chair so that he was facing him once more. "You've probably never noticed this, but you're almost never alone. Between your parents and your friends and your brother, there's nearly always someone with you."

The boy shivered in response, dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he was with his brother and his parents right now.

"I thought it would be much too hard to try and get you alone," Ben continued, "so I decided to focus my attention on Frank. And I was glad I did; he's a beautiful boy and most unusual for a teenager. He would have been the prize of my collection. My paintings," he added, as Joe's eyes opened in confusion. "I paint all my boys. Their faces sometimes blur a little in my memory and my paintings keep them clear…I like to remember." He ran his tongue over his lips tasting the words as he said them. "I even send one as a little memento to the boys' parents."

He shook his head. "But your brother, I'm sorry to say, proved to be more trouble than I expected. I never intended to take him quite so soon; but he was alone, it was after dark and I couldn't resist." For the first time, Ben looked angry, clenching his jaw as he continued to speak. "He put up quite a fight. The damn janitor nearly caught me because of your brother. That's never happened before."

"I guess my brother's not a coward like you!" Joe spoke up, pride in his brother's actions giving him courage. A vicious back-hand to his face quickly put paid to that and he dropped his head, trembling in fear and tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again, or I will make you _very_ sorry, do you understand?" growled Ben, his voice low and frighteningly dangerous.

Joe, keeping his eyes on the ground, nodded.

"Good boy," Ben sneered, mock-patting him on the head. Joe didn't respond this time.

The man smiled to himself before continuing with his story. "I actually visited the hospital a few times in the hope of getting to Frank there. Everyone was expecting a monster so no-one paid any attention to me and I was able to blend in. Not a single person ever looked twice at me…including you."

Joe slowly raised his head and looked at Ben. The man was watching him with a mocking glint and suddenly Joe realised, he had seen this man before.

"You…you were at the payphone in the hospital," he choked out, shock sweeping over him.

"Yes. And after hearing every word of your conversation with your little girlfriends, I decided never to use temazepam again. It was too risky after what happened to Frank; what if I procured some other delightful companion and it killed him before we got to know one another? That wouldn't do at all." Ben gave a disgusting smile. "I like getting to know all my guests."

He squatted down in front of the boy and stared him directly in the face. "After my first attempt at kidnapping Frank, your father kept an annoyingly close watch on him. If it wasn't your father then it was a police officer or some detective. I finally realised that I was wasting my time; your father was never going to let him out alone until I was caught. I decided to go back to New York."

Using his hand, he forced Joe to look him directly in the eye. "And that brings us back to the irony, Joe. You're here _because_ I was going back to New York."

Ben smiled cruelly at the boy's growing distress. "You see, I wanted a last look at Frank so I camped out in the bushes across the road from your house…and I heard a most interesting conversation between your father and his friend, Sam. You had football practice and because your father had to stay with Frank he needed Sam to pick you up. Fate handed me the time and place of where you were going to be so I thought, why waste it?"

Leaning forwards, the man put one hand on Joe's leg and his mouth to the boy's ear. "You might not be my first choice," he whispered huskily, "but you make a lovely consolation prize." He ran his fingers over the boy's lips and Joe jerked back, retching in disgust.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed.

"Try and stop me," Ben smirked, getting to his feet. He crossed the room and settled in the stool by the easel once more. "It's time to finish your painting," he said, and picked up the paintbrush, dipping it in some paint before giving the boy a monstrous smile. "But make no mistake about it, when I'm finished I _will_ get to know you better."

Shaking with fear, shock and revulsion, Joe closed his eyes. They were burning hotly once more and he gave an angry, choked sob. Why was he crying? Why couldn't he make them stop? Why the hell was he being such a coward? Wasn't it bad enough he was in this situation without having the added embarrassment of behaving like a child?

_You wuss! _he berated himself, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control, but he had never felt so ashamed or angry or terrified in his life.

"NYPD! FREEZE!" a voice roared suddenly and Joe opened his eyes in shock.

The massive frame of Mike Wilson stood framed in the doorway to the basement, a gun pointing at Ben's head.

**xxx**

Frank gawped at Fenton. He had _never_ heard his father use words like that before.

Fenton Hardy stood in the centre of the living room, breathing heavily and staring at his shattered phone. His countenance bore a close resemblance to that of a raging dervish as fear, horror and fury raged across his features.

"Fenton?" Sam ventured uncertainly. The others could only stare in open-mouthed shock as he struggled to get his emotions under control.

The detective never answered and Sam took a step towards him. "Fenton!" he repeated, more insistently. Wordlessly, Fenton turned to face him. "Are you alright?" asked Sam anxiously.

"I'm fine," he replied, the effort of speaking distorting his voice.

"Yeah, right!" Sam snorted. "Fenton, what the hell just happened?"

The detective looked as though he weren't quite sure how to answer that, his behaviour having stunned himself, and stared at Sam for a long minute. "Mike thinks he knows where Joe is," he said finally.

Con's jaw dropped. "What! How? And how does he even know Joe is missing?"

Fenton swallowed. "He heard the missing persons broadcast go out on Joe over the police scanner."

"That still doesn't explain how he knows where he is," Sam pointed out, watching Fenton closely. The strain on his face was evident and he looked like a man about to crack. Sam wondered what else Mike had said.

"Fenton?" Con prodded when the detective didn't answer.

"He was near the school when he heard Sam's radio call," Fenton explained. "So he decided to drive over there. Some lunatic came flying out of the school gates and nearly crashed into him but didn't stop. Mike got suspicious and tailed it to some old mansion outside Bayport. He's still there."

"But did he actually see Joe?" Sam persisted.

"No. He hasn't been able to climb the wall yet."

"Yet?" said Con sharply. "What do you mean yet? Fenton, please tell me he's not about to break into somebody's house without any proof?"

Fenton didn't answer and Con groaned. "Fenton, if Joe's not there then Mike could get in a lot of trouble, and if he is there then Mike could put him in some serious danger!"

"I _know!_" Fenton ground out, panic in his voice. "But he wouldn't listen to me! He said-" The detective stopped abruptly, looking sick. He glanced at Frank and Laura before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. We need to go, we need to get out there."

"What? He give you an address?" asked Sam sharply.

"Not quiet. He's turned on the GPS in his cell phone, he said we can track that."

"Excellent idea," said Con, immediately pulling out his cell phone and calling Chief Collig. As he spoke quickly into the phone, Frank turned to his father.

"Dad, I want to come."

"No way, absolutely not!" his father told him at once.

Frank opened his mouth to argue but his father held his hand up. "I don't want to hear it, Frank. It's too dangerous. You're staying here."

Frank closed his mouth, misery etched on his face.

"Frank, if Joe's there, we'll bring him home," said Sam gently, feeling overwhelmingly sorry for the disconsolate and frightened boy. "But we need you to stay here so we can do it safely, okay?

Stiff and shaking, his eyes still on his father, Frank nodded.

Con hung up the phone and turned back to them. "Chief Collig's activating the GPS right now. He's going to meet us with a unit on route."

Fenton nodded grimly. "Let's go."

"Wait!" said Sam as Con and Fenton started towards the door. He frowned at them both. "Someone needs to stay here…just in case."

"I'll do it," Con offered quietly, one look at Fenton's face telling him just how desperately the man needed to go; waiting here would probably drive him insane.

"Thanks, Con," Fenton whispered gratefully.

"I'll tell Chief Collig to contact you through Sam's phone," the officer told them quietly. "Call as soon as you have word."

"We will," Fenton promised.

The two men left quickly, the sound of the front door slamming shut behind them sounding horribly loud to the three silent figures left waiting in the living room.

**xxx**

Mike glared with hatred at Ben as he moved slowly into the room. The gun was steady in his hand. "I've waited a long time to catch you," he said quietly.

Ben didn't answer. Mike kept his eyes fixed on him as he edged across the room towards Joe. The boy's ragged breathing was painfully loud to Mike's ears.

_Bastard! _thought the detective angrily as Joe's sobs tore through him. This man was through terrorizing children; if he had to kill him to ensure that, then he would.

"It's alright, Joey," said Mike softly, as he reached the teenager. "You're safe now."

Never taking his eyes off of Ben, Mike indicated with his gun. "Get over by the wall, now!"

The man obliged, still saying nothing.

"Turn and face the wall," Mike ordered. Ben did as he was told. "Now, kneel down and place your hands on the back of your head, fingers laced together."

The man complied with his orders and Mike gave a grim smile. "You move and I will shoot you. Do you understand?"

Ben nodded.

Quickly, Mike dropped to his knees beside Joe and put his gun on the floor. His heart ached when he saw the boy's pale, terrified face and red-rimmed eyes. "Did he hurt you?" the detective asked softly.

Joe shook his head.

_That's something I suppose_, thought Mike, trying to keep a check on his emotions. He would have to play this very cool.

"Let's get you out of these ropes, okay?"

With another glance to make sure the man was still by the wall, Mike started to untie Joe. It took several minutes as he had to constantly check on Ben, but eventually he removed the last of the ropes and helped the boy to his feet.

"Joe, I don't have my handcuffs, so I'm just going to use these ropes to tie him up. I want you to wait right here for me while I do that, okay?"

Rubbing his raw wrists, Joe nodded.

Keeping his gaze on Ben, Mike reached down and retrieved his gun plus several coils of rope from the floor. He walked slowly towards Ben and stopped two feet away from him. Holstering his gun, he addressed the monster kneeling on the floor. "Keeping your hands on your head, I want you to get to your feet nice and slow."

The man started to struggle slowly to his feet, fumbling once or twice. Mike made no move to help him but waited patiently until he was standing facing the wall. He walked forwards and grabbed the man's right wrist, twisting it roughly as he brought it back behind him. Then he reached for the other wrist.

Suddenly, Ben spun and used his left elbow to smash him in the face. Momentarily stunned, Mike loosened his grip on the other wrist allowing the man to yank it free. The detective reached for his gun as Ben spun to face him. There was a flash of silver and Mike's world turned blindingly white as fire erupted inside him. Looking down, he saw a large knife embedded in his stomach, a hand still on the handle. His gaze on the knife, Mike missed the look of evil glee that crossed Ben's face, but he saw the hand twist the knife inside him before yanking it out.

"I'll do it to him when I'm done with him," sneered an evil voice in his ear but Mike only heard part of it. His world was spinning into a kaleidoscope of colours; red, white, pink, yellow and black. Something hard hit his shoulder and he raised his hand to fight back before realising he had fallen into the wall and was fast sliding down it. With a painful twist, he turned to face the room and saw Joe watching him in frozen horror. Their eyes locked and Mike wanted to tell him to run, but although his mouth formed the words, all that came out was a strangled gargle.

The pain was horrendous; cold fire exploding in a boiling cacophony of agony. Mike closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, willing the pain away. Halfway between slumping and standing, consciousness and unconsciousness, Mike heard a loud crash and forced open his eyes.

Joe and Ben were locked in a deadly struggle. The man had pinned the boy against the wall, trying to subdue him by force; one hand was wrapped around the boy's throat while the other pinned his right wrist to the wall. Kicking desperately with his legs and his free hand scratching viciously at Ben's face, Joe was putting up a good fight.

But Mike could see he was weakening against a far stronger opponent and he could hear the things the man was yelling at him, perverse things no child needed to hear. His pain melted into a hot ball of anger and by sheer force of will, Mike forced himself to stand. Reaching for his gun, he took several unsteady steps forward and tried to keep his balance in the rapidly swaying room.

_Jesus! This is worse than those rides at the carnival! _he thought to himself. He had always detested those fairground rides.

A loud thump drew his attention back to the struggling pair. Joe was on the ground in a ball, Ben looming over him. Mike saw the man lift his foot as if to kick the teenager.

"Oh, no you don't!" he gasped. As Ben turned to face him, he fired.

It all happened in slow motion. Ben gave a little jerk and staggered back. He had barely enough time to give Mike a shocked look before he crumpled to the floor. The detective remained where he was for several minutes, his gun trained on the inert figure before he was convinced that the man would not be getting up again.

Staggering and weaving, Mike made his way over to where the teenager was slowly getting to his feet.

"Is…is he dead?" Joe whispered.

"No loss," said Mike bitterly and grimaced. The fire in his stomach had started to turn into sharp, piercing ice. It hurt to breathe.

"Are you okay, Mike?" Joe gulped, his eyes glued to the gaping, oozing wound in the big man's stomach.

"Just fine, Joey," he answered, his face pale and slick with the gleam of sweet. It cost him a lot of effort to talk but he needed to reassure the badly shaken boy. "Your Dad's on the way. Let's go outside and meet him, okay?"

Leaning heavily on the wall for support, Mike led the way out of the basement. He groaned to himself as the huge, winding stairs he had crept down in his search for Joe loomed before him. He had forgotten about them.

_This isn't a house, it's a damn castle with a dungeon instead of a basement! _he thought, staring in angry dismay at the stairs. How was he supposed to get up there?

A gentle touch to his left arm made him look down. Joe was staring up at him. "I can help," he offered. "Lean on me."

Mike gave him a crooked smile. "I'm a big man, Joe."

"That's okay, I'm stronger than I look," said Joe, trying to smile back but failing miserably. "Please, Mike, let me help?"

With no other means of making their way out, Mike nodded. "Okay, but just so I don't crush you, I'll use the wall for support if you help me keep my balance, alright?"

Joe nodded and together they started the torturous climb, Mike trying to keep most of his weight against the wall. The pain had started to dissipate, leaving in its wake a sort of numb, paralysing coldness that sapped his strength.

It took them a long time to climb the first few steps. They were only steps but they may as well have been a mountain in Mike's current condition. He was getting progressively weaker and trying his hardest not to lean on the teenager as he did so. But it was impossible to completely keep all of his weight off Joe's shoulder and he could hear the boy breathing heavily with the exertion.

About halfway up the stairs, the detective stopped. "I just need…to…rest for a second," he gasped out. He could feel his legs starting to go and prayed they would last him until they at least got to the top. He didn't relish the thought of collapsing on these cold, damp steps or further frightening the boy beside him.

Mike glanced at the blond head of the teenager who was looking longingly up the steps and for the first time, he regretted leaving his cell phone in the car. At the time he had reasoned that if anything happened to him, at least his cell would still be sitting in his car transmitting its signal so that the police could find this place. It was more than a little off the beaten track and difficult to find. In fact, Mike would never have found it if he hadn't been tailing that man's car from the school. Most people wouldn't have chased after a car that had coming speeding out from a high school; they would have attributed it to some reckless teenager.

But Mike wasn't most people. Years of detecting had honed his instincts to the point that he was almost never wrong. Hearing the radio call that had urged any unit within the vicinity of the high school to head straight over there and check on Joe Hardy had alarmed him, seeing the silver Denali nearly crash into him as it hurtled away from the school gates had sent his instincts into screaming overdrive, telling him that something was very wrong. So he had followed the car.

The detective had had to be very careful that whomever was driving didn't suspect he was following them, keeping well back and out of sight. He had even turned off his lights and driven in careful darkness once they had turned off from the road onto a dirt track…with a run-down old manor at the end. A run-down old manor with high walls and modern, high tech security gates that Mike had been unable to open from the outside. Those gates had confirmed to him that there was something in that building that someone needed to hide and he had done the right thing in following the car.

He smiled ruefully to himself as he thought of how hard it had been to get inside.

Unable to open the gates and with the clock ticking, Mike had climbed the tree that stood nearest to the wall and crossed, very precariously, from it's branches to the top of the wall. Not having climbed a tree since he was a child and being as big as he was, it had taken him the better part of an hour to do it. He had nearly broken a leg jumping off the wall into the grounds of the house, and could practically hear his wife's voice scolding him. _What on earth were you thinking? You're not Superman, you know!_

Mike swallowed. Considering the seriousness of his wound and the rashness with which he had barged into that basement, he knew she would have had a point. But he had been afraid of waiting. Waiting meant increasing the possibility of this man doing to Joe what he had done to the other boys and Mike couldn't risk that. He grimaced as he remembered how brutal he had been on the phone with Fenton when the detective had insisted he wait, asking him if he wanted to give the man time to rape Joe.

It had been a low blow. Fenton had never even used the word rape in relation to the other boys, never mind one of his own sons, and he knew it would upset his friend deeply. But Mike needed to make Fenton understand how urgent it was that he act rather than waiting for back up. He would apologise to him later.

He swallowed again. God, his mouth was so dry. "Okay, Joe," he rasped. "Let's keep going."

Gritting his teeth and with a tremendous grunt of effort, Mike started to climb again. Pinpricks of light were starting to dance their way across his vision and it took every bit of strength he had to stay upright. He was so focused on making it to the top that he never noticed that Joe now had one arm around his back and the other around his stomach. He was panting and straining as he dragged the big man up the stairs. If it weren't for the support of the wall on Mike's other side, both boy and man would probably have plunged back down the stairs.

"We're…nearly…there…Mike," Joe gasped, struggling not to buckle under the big man's weight.

Mike gave a nod, speech taking more strength than he possessed right now. Sirens sounded as Joe helped heave Mike over the last step of the stairs from the basement.

"That's them!" Joe cried, breathing heavily as they paused. "Mike, they're here! Dad's here! We'll get an ambulance and you'll be okay!"

"S'good, Joey," Mike mumbled, feeling cold and knowing deep in his bones that that wasn't good. He was relieved that he'd had the foresight to open the gates using the control panel once he had got into the grounds; it was about the only thing he had done right in this botched rescue attempt.

The pain had come back after the nauseating climb, and Mike had to gulp down a groan as Joe started to drag him towards the door. The lights in the hall felt blinding after the dim of the basement stairs. His head spun and blood started to pound in his ears. Joe's voice sounded from a long way off, pleading with him. Mike used the last of his strength to focus on Joe and smile at him. "It'll be…alright now. You're safe."

Something wet and tangy filled the back of his throat.

There was a loud, splintering crack and they looked up just in time to see three police officers burst through the front door into the hall, their guns drawn. Fenton Hardy was just behind them, pale and grim.

"Joe!" he yelled, catching sight of his son and shoving past the officers. He dashed across the hall and grabbed Joe, pulling him into a crushing hug. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

Joe shook his head into his father's chest, unable to speak as relief washed over him. His father was hugging him so tightly that it hurt, but he didn't care. He was safe.

"Thank you, God," he heard his father murmur and tighten his hold. The boy sagged, feeling exhaustion overwhelm him. His relief, however, was short lived when a voice erupted behind them. "Call an ambulance! NOW!"

_Mike! _Joe pulled away and turned around….and for the first time he truly understood what it meant to have your blood run cold. His whole body felt as though it had turned to ice.

Mike was lying on the ground, gasping for breath while Sam Radley knelt beside him, talking urgently to him, although Joe couldn't hear what he was saying. He was mesmerised by the slim trail of red bubbling from Mike's mouth and the dark pool collecting slowly on the ground beneath him. Someone screamed as the detective's body started to jerk uncontrollably.

Joe didn't know who screamed, didn't notice the urgent yelling in the hall, nor was he aware of his father dropping to the injured man's side. The world had gone strangely silent and the only thing he could see was the man on the floor in front of him, flopping up and down like a fish on dry land.

He felt his breath catch painfully in his throat and his heart stop beating as a horrible gargling echoed from Mike's throat. Joe wanted to help him, wanted to take away his pain, but he couldn't seem to move; his body stuck in frozen fear. He could only watch as the body of the man who had saved his life gave a final twitch before becoming limp and still on the floor.

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to everyone for your lovely words regarding the flammers. It made me feel a hundred times better! And to anyone who was worried I wouldn't finish the story; don't worry, it's already finished! Just one more chapter left!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"We commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

Frank Hardy was only half listening to the words of the Minister, his mind elsewhere. The sun beamed down uncomfortably hard on the back of his neck, the rain of the last few days having disappeared. He thought it a cruel twist of fate that the sun had decided to appear just as they were burying Mike.

With a glance around the packed cemetery, Frank swallowed hard. Most of NYPD had turned out to pay their respects to the big man. They stood, grim and silent figures in their dark uniforms, mourning the loss of one of their own. Frank had never witnessed such solidarity before; the motorcade procession to the cemetery had brought several of New York's streets to a standstill. Not that he found it surprising, Frank understood only too well their bitter sense of loss.

Mike had been a good man and a great detective; one who believed strongly in justice and in doing what was right. He had spent most of his life fighting to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was how he had died.

Frank glanced at his brother, standing so very still beside him in a dark suit. Joe had barely said two words in the last few days. He had become a stranger, robotic and silent. Frank still did not know the full story of what had happened to him the night Mike had died, and that fact both scared and hurt him. His brother had never shut him out before.

Feeling his eyes start to blur a little, Frank blinked quickly. Mike had saved his brother's life and taken down a murderer…and yet there was no happy ending.

A dry sob to his left drew his attention. Imperceptibly, he turned and glanced at his father. Fenton Hardy's face was a mask of grief; eyes scrunched shut in pain and his mouth a thin line of clenched anguish. He was heartbroken by his old friend's death.

Frank shivered, despite the sun, as his thoughts drifted back to the awful night Mike had died. It had been late when his father returned home, his face carrying such a harrowing expression of grief that for one terrible moment, Frank had been sure his brother was dead. Then Joe had entered with Sam Radley behind him, and Frank's mind had gone completely blank with relief.

White-faced and shaking, his clothes and face splattered with dirt and blood, Joe had been unable to look his brother in the eye. When their mother raced forward to embrace her son, Joe had taken a step back and Sam had put his hand out to stop her, shaking his head violently.

"Joe?" their mother whispered while Frank's heart plummeted.

"I need a shower," was all he said, before climbing the stairs without even so much as a backward glance at his family.

Frank's fleshed crawled as he flashed back to the nightmarish thoughts that had forced their way into his mind at that moment. He knew they had occurred to his mother too because she had turned, terrified, to Sam.

"He never touched him," said the detective at once, picking up on their fear.

The relief had been so overwhelmingly painful that Frank had closed his eyes, only opening them when he heard his mother ask, "Fenton, what's wrong?"

It had been a long minute before he answered her, his face twisting in pain as he tried to speak. Finally he had managed to choke out, "Mike's dead."

Laura's eyes had widened in shocked pity. Wordlessly, she slid arms around her shaking husband, whereupon he had broken down and sobbed desperately on her shoulder. Watching his father weep openly as his wife held him tightly had been the moment when Frank had realised just how human his father really was.

The sudden sound of gunfire made him jump, and Frank almost ducked before realising that it was the three volley salute.

The men and women of NYPD raised their right hands as one, and saluted the coffin. Frank felt the lump in his throat swell as the Honour Guard fired again. Beside him, Joe started to shake. As the third and final shot was fired, Frank bowed his head in memory of a man who had sacrificed his own life to keep his brother safe.

**xxx**

The drive back to the hotel was uncomfortable and silent. From the back seat, Frank could see his mother stealing anxious glances out of the corner of her eye at her husband. Fenton was rigid in the driver's seat, his eyes glued to the road and his jaw clenched tightly. He hadn't said a single word since they left the cemetery.

Joe was sitting beside Frank, quiet and unmoving, his head lying against the glass as he stared unseeing at the street outside. Frank wished there was something he could say to make his brother feel better, but he didn't know how to deal with this silent ghost. The dark haired boy swallowed. He didn't know how to handle any of this.

The car entered the hotel parking lot and Fenton pulled up in front of the door. "I have some things I need to do," he said quietly to his wife. "I'll be back later."

She nodded, biting her lip. Frank could see that his mother was having as much trouble dealing with her silent husband as he was having dealing with the stranger that had replaced his brother.

Saying their goodbyes to Fenton, the Hardys climbed out of the car and watched as the detective reversed and pulled out of the parking lot.

Laura turned to her sons. "Are you boys hungry?"

They shook their heads and she smiled sadly. "Me neither. Let's just go back to our rooms, okay? We can get some dinner when your father returns."

"Sure, Mom," Frank replied while Joe shrugged.

Entering the hotel, they crossed the lobby to the elevator. As they waited for the elevator, Frank listened to the tinkling noise of laughter and conversation that filled the room. He was struck by how surreal this normality felt after the grim strangeness of the last few days.

The elevator doors pinged and opened. Laura entered first, followed by Joe and then Frank. An elderly lady came hurrying in after them just as the doors slid closed, her arms around a skinny, hairless little dog with long white hair around it's ears that looked like a wig. She was crooning to it and talking to it in a baby voice as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

Frank thought it was the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

"Is Mummy's little Darling tired after his walk?" cooed the elderly lady while the little dog snarled and yipped. "Poor baby! Never mind, Mummy will make sure you have a nice long nappy-nap when we get back. Would you like that, Lulu? Yes, you would! Yes, you would!"

She made kissy noises at the dog and Frank snorted as he suppressed a laugh. He tried to catch his brother's eye but Joe didn't seem to be paying any attention to the woman or her dog. With a bitter pang, Frank remembered a time when his brother would have imitated this woman with gusto while their mother wasn't looking.

The doors opened on their floor and to Frank's relief, the woman and her dog did not get off with them. He watched Joe slowly make his way down the corridor and his heart ached. He desperately missed the side of his brother that would once have exploded with laughter as soon as he left the elevator.

His mother was also looking after Joe in concern and with a helpless glance at Frank, indicated that they should follow him. They made their way down to the end of the long corridor where their rooms were. Frank and Joe were sharing a room just across from their parents.

"I'm going to call Gertrude," Laura told them softly. "I'll be in the room if you boys need anything."

Frank nodded and watched his mother enter her room before pulling their key from his pocket and opening the door. He stood back and let Joe enter first, before following him into the room.

Joe kicked off his shoes and lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He never said a word to Frank.

Frank sat gently on the side of his bed, facing his brother's prone figure. He stared at him in silence for several minutes.

"What?" Joe demanded finally.

"Joe, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." The younger boy's tone was uncharacteristically hostile and Frank winced.

"Are you mad with me?" he asked quietly.

That got Joe's attention. He sat up and stared at Frank. "No! Why would you think that?"

"Gee, I wonder," said Frank sarcastically.

Joe dropped his head and Frank immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry. It's just…you've barely said two words to me in the last few days!"

The younger boy shrugged in response and Frank wanted to shake him in frustration.

"Talk to me, Joe!" he begged.

"What do you want me to say?"

The question caught Frank off guard. "I don't know…anything. Just say _something_! Don't shut me out. Talk to me, please."

"You want to talk? Okay, Frank, let's talk!" said Joe, starting to get angry as he stood up and looked down at his brother. "What do _you_ want to talk about? Lets see, what about the fact that I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes I see Mike dying? Or how about I can't bear to have anyone touch me because every time someone does I think of him? Or what about the fact that Dad can't look at me because he blames me for Mike's death? Oh yeah, and I nearly forgot…how about every time I look at you I keep thinking 'why me?' Is _that_ what you wanted to talk about, Frank, huh?"

Joe's voice had been rising progressively with every word and he was now shouting. Frank stared in open-mouthed shock as angry tears formed in his brother's eyes.

"You're the one who wanted to talk, Frank, so talk!"

Frank blinked and stared at his brother, confused and hurt. Why was Joe angry at him?

"TALK!" Joe screamed.

The older boy stood up, holding his hands out in a pacifying gesture. "Joe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I just wanted to help."

"Oh yeah, help!" Joe spat, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. "Who did you want to help, Frank, me or you?"

"You!" Frank shot back, his own temper starting to rise. He was baffled by his brother's anger. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"I don't _know!_" Joe howled and covered his face with his hands. He sat on the bed and sobbed, than choked as he tried to stop crying.

Frank stared at his brother for several minutes, stunned, before sitting down beside him. He itched to put his arm around Joe but was afraid to touch him. Instead, he waited in silence for him to regain control of his emotions. Finally the younger boy sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Frank," he said shakily. "I didn't mean any of that. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you, Joe," Frank replied softly. "You've just been through something really horrible."

"But it's not fair of me to be taking it out on you," Joe sniffed. "And I'm glad you weren't there. I would have hated it if anything happened to you. I don't know why I said it…I'm sorry," he added in a whisper.

The miserable expression on his face tore at Frank's heart. "Joe, don't apologise. It's not your fault, any of it."

"Yes it is! I begged Dad to let me go to football practice _and_ I was stupid enough to fall for his trap! Mike's dead because of me!"

"It wasn't your fault!" said Frank fiercely. "If you hadn't been kidnapped then that guy would still be alive and free to keep killing! And if Mike hadn't found you…" Frank's voice trailed off and he shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if Mike hadn't been near the school at precisely that moment.

"Joe," he continued in a softer voice. "I'm pretty sure that Mike would rather it were him instead of you, and he would have been glad that he took this guy down with him. He went out a hero, Joe."

"He shouldn't have died. It's my fault."

"It's _not _your fault! Haven't you been listening to me? Why would you think it's your fault?"

"Why not? Dad does."

Frank frowned. "Of course he doesn't! Where would you get an idea like that?"

Joe shrugged.

"I'm serious," Frank argued. "Give me one good reason why you think Dad blames you."

"He won't talk to me," Joe whispered. "He can't even look at me!"

"He's grieving, Joe! He's barely talking to any of us."

"I know. It's just…Look, Frank, it doesn't matter-"

"But it does matter!" Frank interrupted. "Joe, Dad doesn't blame you! Nobody does. The only person at fault here is that sick, evil, twisted psycho…and he's dead!"

Joe didn't respond but his expression was so lost and miserable that Frank couldn't stop himself from putting his arm around his brother's shoulder.

"Stop that," he said softly, as Joe stiffened. "Joe, you know that Dad doesn't blame you. And don't let what happened with this guy freak you out so much that you don't even want to be near your own family!"

"I can't help it." The younger boy's voice was barely a whisper.

Frank swallowed. Part of him wished this man weren't dead so he could throttle him himself. "Joe," he said quietly. "I know this hurts. And I know it's scary to think there are guys like him out there…but he was sick and evil! Please don't shut out the people who care about you because of him, we just want to help."

"I know you do," Joe replied, sounding tired. "But I don't know how to get him out of my head."

"Just keep telling yourself that he's dead," said Frank. "And that he can't hurt you or anybody else ever again."

Joe nodded then flinched as Frank squeezed his shoulders before removing his arm.

"Don't," Frank reprimanded him gently. "He's gone and you're safe. Don't let him win by being afraid. You can't last your life without human contact. For one thing, what about girlfriends?"

Joe gave a watery laugh at his brother's desperate attempts to make him smile. "Um, I think you're talking about you and Callie."

"For now. But your turn will come too…don't make the gross face!" Frank groaned as his brother pulled a face. "Joe, why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make a face when I'm trying to give you advice."

"Because I like to bug you?" Joe gave him a small smile and Frank felt an inward flip of delight to see a trace of his brother's old humour.

"Funny!" he retorted. "Just remember who's taller."

"For now," Joe teased.

Frank rolled his eyes.

Joe's expression sobered. "Frank, thanks."

"For what?"

"For not getting mad. I was a real jerk and you were…really cool."

"Just don't like seeing my little brother so upset," replied Frank.

"Uh…yeah. About that? Could you not tell anyone that I behaved like a total girl?" Joe asked, his cheeks reddening slightly.

Frank smiled. "My lips are sealed. Want to get something to eat?"

Joe shook his head. "I'm not very hungry. Think I might try and catch a nap."

His tone was cheerful but Frank still sensed an unease lurking beneath the surface. He searched his brother's face for signs that he would lapse into his silent funk again, but although Joe's face was pale and there were sunken shadows beneath his eyes, he looked a lot more like his old self.

"Alright," he conceded. "When Dad comes back, I'll call you and we can all go for something to eat."

There it was. At the mention of their father's name, a shadow of pain flashed across Joe's face. Frank groaned inwardly, realising that he had not totally convinced his brother that their father didn't blame him for Mike's death. Frank couldn't help but feel slightly angry at his father for not seeing this. Didn't Joe have enough to deal with?

Knowing that if he pushed too hard he could make matters worse, Frank decided to let Joe get some rest. But he had no intention of letting the matter go. He might not be able to convince Joe of their father's feelings…but Fenton could.

And Frank was going to make sure that he would.

He made his way slowly to the lobby. He was going to park his butt on one of those sofas and wait for his father to get back. Even if it meant waiting all night.

**xxx**

Fenton pulled into the hotel parking lot and neatly parked the car. Turning off the engine, he sat with his hands on the steering wheel, staring off into the darkness. His heart ached with a weighted heaviness. It hurt to move and it hurt to breath. He couldn't believe Mike was really dead.

With a ragged gasp, he tightened his grip on the wheel. He had just spent the last two hours with Leona, clearing out Mike's office. She had showed signs of wanting to talk about Mike, but for him it was just too soon. He had been relieved when Con and Sam had shown up with more information on the killer; it had given him something else to focus on.

Ben Mathis had been forty-two and a sociopath if ever there was one. His father had been one of the wealthiest shipping magnates on the east coast and Ben had been raised in impossible luxury, attending the best schools and enjoying the best of everything. This was a man who always had everything money could buy…but apparently it wasn't enough.

Violent anger surged through him as he remembered what Con had told him. As well as several paintings, the police had discovered diaries that went into vivid and horrific detail about what his victims had endured during their last few days on earth. Con had told him that the police expected to find evidence of other victims in his other properties that were scattered up and down the East Coast. Even though Ben was dead, the investigation wasn't over. The full sordid story behind all of his crimes had yet to be unveiled. NYPD were also hoping to find something that might lead them to the location of Chris Gallagher's body so that his family could finally put him to rest.

For Fenton, however, the case was over. After fifteen years of chasing this monster, he was done. He had sacrificed so much to this case and none of it had been worth it. Too many innocent lives had been lost, including Mike's, and he felt cheated that the monster responsible for all this pain would never face justice. Fenton could only hope that he was burning in hell for his crimes.

Sighing painfully, the detective got out of the car and walked slowly towards the hotel. As he reached the front door, an older couple exited, laughing. The man's booming laugh was like a knife to his heart; it reminded him so much of Mike. Fenton closed his eyes for a moment, remembering that when Mike laughed it had been impossible not to laugh too.

Swallowing hard, he entered the lobby and crossed it. He had just reached the elevator when a voice rang out.

"Dad!"

Fenton turned and saw Frank hurrying towards him. There was a grim and somewhat scared expression on his face and Fenton felt his heart quicken as he wondered what was wrong. "Frank! What is it? Has something happened?"

"Nothing's happened," Frank replied, before stopping in front of him. "We need to talk."

"Can't this wait till morning?" asked Fenton, suddenly very exhausted. His brain was on overload, still processing the events of the day, and he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a year.

"No it can't!" said Frank fiercely and Fenton recognised his determined expression as the one he usually wore when he had something to say that he knew the other party was not going to like. It was pointless even trying to put him off; come hell or high water, Frank was going to have his say.

Fenton sighed. "Alright. What is it?"

"Why aren't you talking to Joe?" demanded Frank at once. "You've hardly looked at him since you came home the other night! Do you blame him for Mike's death or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Fenton, shocked. "What on earth would make you say that?"

"Because Joe is up there thinking that you do!" snapped Frank, indicating wildly upwards with his finger.

Fenton was stunned. "Joe thinks…why would he think that?"

"I have no idea!" snapped Frank. "But you need to do something about it right now! He's got enough to deal with, Dad."

Fenton looked down at the furiously indignant face of his eldest son, so much an old man's head on a young boy's shoulders, and felt pain. Pain that his son should see with the eyes of an adult and knowing that it was because life had made him so. Why couldn't Fenton protect his children from the horrible truths of this world? Without a word, he reached out and hugged Frank.

Whatever reaction the teenager had expected from his father, this clearly wasn't it and he patted Fenton's back awkwardly. "Er, Dad? Are you okay?"

As Fenton pulled back, he could see the boy's eyes darting in nervous embarrassment around the lobby to make sure no one was watching them and despite his grief, he couldn't help but smile.

_Still a teenager in some ways._

"Dad, you okay?" Frank asked again, looking worried now.

"I'm fine," Fenton told him softly.

"Okay." Frank cocked his head on one side and frowned. "So, what are you going to do about Joe?"

Fenton smiled sadly. He could feel a twinge of warmth stab through the pain at this example of his sons' closeness. No one could deny the bond between Frank and Joe.

He put a hand on Frank's shoulder. "Frank, I promise I'll sort this out."

Frank bit his lip. "How?"

"I'm going to go and talk to Joe now. Tell you what, why don't you see if you can book us a table in the restaurant for eight thirty and we can all have dinner together?"

Frank nodded. "Okay, Dad."

Fenton hit the button and stepped into the elevator as the doors opened. His last view of the lobby before the doors glided shut was of his eldest son's face looking slightly apprehensive and more than a little worried.

The detective stared at his reflection in the polished elevator doors. The pale and dishevelled ghost staring back at him didn't look anything like him. No wonder his wife had insisted they spend another night in the hotel so they could all get some sleep; he looked like a hobo in someone else's dress suit. There was a little jerk as the elevator stopped and its doors slid open. Fenton found himself staring into the cream coloured hallway leading to their rooms.

Stepping out of the elevator, he walked slowly towards the boys' room. He stopped outside it and took a deep breath before knocking softly. "Joe? It's me."

There was no answer.

"Joe, I know you're in there," said Fenton. "We need to talk."

He heard movement inside the room and the door opened. Joe stood there looking scared, pale and tired.

Fenton felt ashamed of himself at once. He had spent the last few days wallowing in self-pity and misery, and forgotten all about the frightened teenage boy who had watched the man who had saved his life die.

The blond boy remained frozen by the door, his eyes on his father. Fenton could see that he was nervous and apprehensive, unsure of what his father was about to say.

Swallowing hard, he stepped into the room and pulled his youngest son into a tight hug. He felt the boy stiffen in his arms and his heart ached. How could he have been so selfish?

"I'm sorry, Joe," he whispered into the boy's hair. "I am so sorry."

Joe went limp and Fenton felt him start to shake as all the tension and all the fear started to pour out of him. The detective's shirt grew damp but he didn't let go.

"It's all right," he said softly, feeling as though he may cry himself. "It's okay. Let it out." He pulled the boy tighter to him.

Lost in the embrace, it was several seconds before Fenton became aware that Joe was saying something. He put his ear down. "What was that, Joe?"

"I'm sorry, Dad," the boy whispered. "I'm really sorry."

Fenton swallowed the lump in his throat. "You have nothing to apologise for," he said fiercely, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Do you understand? Nothing. This is not your fault!"

Joe nodded into his father's chest and Fenton heard a muffled sob.

"It's alright now," he told the boy. "Everything's going to be alright."

**xxx**

"Ahhhh! Come on, Biff! How could you have missed that shot?!"

His brother's yells roused Frank from his pleasant slumber in the sun. Sighing deeply, he cracked open one eye and glanced at the game of three-a-side that was taking place in the park; Joe, Biff and Phil against Chet, Tony and Iola.

Judging by his brother's frustrated face, they were losing, and Frank knew that would particularly irk him because there was a girl on the opposing team…and because that girl was Iola.

Not two nights ago, Joe and Iola had gotten into an argument about how no girl could ever beat a guy a football. Joe had insisted that girls didn't possess the same athletic ability as guys, while Iola had argued that his point was sexist and crap. The current gleeful expression on her face suggested that she was going to enjoy spending the rest of the day rubbing his face in it. Frank chortled at the thought.

"Hey, there," said a soft voice from somewhere above him. "It's about time you woke up. I had no idea you found my company so boring!"

Frank smiled, opened both eyes and sat up. "I could never find your company boring," he replied, looking into Callie's eyes.

"Oh, really? Is that why you've been snoring your head off for the last twenty minutes?" she teased.

"Who? Moi? I haven't been snoring! I've simply been preserving my strength to take you dancing tonight. I intend to show you moves on the dance floor that you've never seen before!"

"Oh, I can think of other ways to spend that energy," she grinned impishly and Frank blushed before leaning forwards and kissing her softly on the lips. He still couldn't believe he'd been dating this girl for over three months now; Callie Shaw was incredible.

A burst of cheering broke the moment and they drew apart, smiling at one another before turning to look at the game. It was over. Chet, Tony and Iola had won. As the six teenagers walked back towards Frank and Callie, Frank noticed Iola teasing his brother and Joe's half-sheepish grin…and smiled.

The last few months had been extremely difficult for the Hardys. Fenton missed his old friend terribly, and there were days when his mood had been so black that Frank wondered if his father would ever get over Mike's death. But in the last few weeks he had noticed that his father was much more cheerful and much less inclined to lock himself away in his study, brooding over what had happened.

The previous Friday, the entire Hardy family had gone to dinner to celebrate Fenton's birthday. As they toasted the detective (and Joe teased him about getting old), Fenton had raised a glass to Mike and thanked him for everything he had done. It had been the first time he had mentioned his name without looking as though it hurt him and Frank knew then his father was finally moving on.

Ben Mathis had been all over the news for the first two months following Mike's death and it had been particularly difficult for Joe as the gruesome details of his crimes were slowly leaked. The blond boy had only told his brother part of what had happened with Ben, and Frank had reluctantly accepted that he didn't want to talk about it. But it bothered him whenever he saw Joe tense if someone came too near. He was slowly getting less skittish though, and Frank noticed with particular satisfaction that he had no objection with how close Iola stood to him.

At that moment, Iola was holding the football behind her back and laughing while Joe kept trying to reach around her and grab it. Frank wondered briefly if his brother would ever make a move, before remembering how long it had taken him to even try and ask Callie out.

He felt a gentle hand slip into his. "Stop thinking so hard," Callie's soft voice sounded in his ear. "It's too nice for deep thoughts."

"So I shouldn't be thinking about how pretty your hair looks?" Frank teased and she laughed.

"Now _that_ you can do!"

Leaning in, Frank kissed her again, feeling himself get lost in the moment.

"Ewwwww! Could you two get a room and stop grossing us out?" Joe's indignant voice sounded and everyone laughed.

Frank pulled away and looked at his brother. "Now why would we do that when it's so much fun grossing you out?"

"Oh funny, you're funny!" Joe snorted, glaring at his brother as he flopped on the grass.

Frank grinned devilishly. "I like to think so."

"Think being the operative word," Joe muttered while Biff and Tony guffawed with laughter. Frank rolled his eyes.

"Hey, guys, anyone up for a movie tonight?" Chet interrupted them, clearly not listening.

"Ooooooh, yes!" exclaimed Callie. "There's a new Meg Ryan movie out that looks really good."

"Not some chick flick!" Biff groaned.

"Well, what do you suggest?" said Callie indignantly. "Something without conversation and lots of explosions?"

"Don't forget car chases," Tony put in helpfully. "Can't forget car chases."

They started to bicker about film choices and Frank smiled, raising his face to the sun. He enjoyed these moments. They were a nice reminder of the simple pleasures in life and helped chase away any dark thoughts. He wondered if Joe felt the same way about them before opening his eyes and glancing at his brother.

Joe was oblivious to the movie debate that was raging. He and Iola were sitting cross-legged a few feet away from the rest of the teenagers, heads bent forward as they leaned towards one another. Iola was gesticulating animatedly, a mischievous grin on her face and Joe's shoulders were quivering as he laughed at whatever she was saying.

Frank guessed it was a joke. Iola possessed a knack for wicked humour, a talent which she had used frequently in the last few weeks to buoy Joe's spirits.

For the millionth time, Frank wondered why his brother and Iola were so slow to get together when there was so obviously something there. He had even briefly considered interfering to get things moving, something Callie had been quick to shoot down the second he had mentioned it to her.

"Don't you dare, Frank Hardy!" she had warned him. "They need to do this at their own pace."

But watching them now, Frank's fingers itched to get involved. He wondered if he had looked this painfully slow when trying to ask Callie out…although he didn't dare ask her. Callie flair for honesty lacked finesse sometimes.

"Stop that," her voice scolded suddenly in his ear and Frank blushed guiltily before turning back to face her.

The debate had obviously been forgotten about or else something had occurred during it because Tony and Biff were now wrestling on the grass. Chet and Phil were holding their sides and laughing while Tony yelled at Biff to let him up because his armpit smelled of feet.

"Joe and Iola will get there…eventually," Callie told Frank gently. "You'd be surprised at how these things work themselves out."

Frank stared into his girlfriend's gentle brown eyes as he thought back over the events of the last few months. Life had the oddest, and sometimes the most painful, ways of giving people the things they wanted the most. But sometimes, it was exactly that which made the thing so precious.

Frank smiled. "You know what? I don't think I would."

Beaming, Callie leaned forward and kissed him. But they barely had time to enjoy their stolen moment before Joe's voice rang out once more.

"For Pete's sake, not AGAIN! Don't you two ever do anything else?"

Frank and Callie could do nothing else except throw themselves back in the grass and laugh.

_**A/N**__: Here it is, the final chapter of Lost Sons. I'm very sorry for the delay in getting it up but I've been without a computer for the last week and a half (it was torture! I hate being without the internet.). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. And thank you so much to everyone who has commented on the story as it posted. Your thoughtful comments and lovely words really made my day and are the best payment in the world for writing a story. So thank you all, very much._


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